


A Time For Great Things

by LarielRomeniel



Series: The Waiting Room [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, CaptainCanary, Childhood Sexual Abuse, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Gideon Is Keeping Secrets, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Post 1x15 "Destiny", Protecting History Can Be Painful, Rescue, Rip's Particularly British Madness, Some Blasts From Sara's Past, Team as Family, Time Travel Fix-It, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7258891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarielRomeniel/pseuds/LarielRomeniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s Jurgen’s Ridge?” “Pray you need never find out.”</p><p>Sometimes prayers should not be answered. This is one of those times. CaptainCanary fixit for "Destiny." There is some disturbing content in Chapter 7.</p><p>Nominated in the CaptainCanary Fan Fiction and Visual Arts Awards 2016: Best Destiny Fix-It, Best Series (The Waiting Room)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This part of “The Waiting Room” sprang into my head while re-watching a scene from “River of Time.” This story falls between “Worth The Wait” (which should be read first to set the stage) and “Kissing Lessons.” (Then feel free to read the rest of the series; yes, this is shameless self-promotion!)
> 
> “The Waiting Room” is canon compliant only through the death of Vandal Savage and the departure of the Hawks in 1x16. Rex Tyler never showed up in this version. 
> 
> Thanks to Jael for the beta and for helping me sort out my theories! The characters, of course, belong to DC Entertainment.

"There is a time for some things, and a time for all things; a time for great things, and a time for small things."

– Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra, _Don Quixote_

* * *

_“What’s Jurgen’s Ridge?”_

_“Pray you need never find out.”_

\-- “River of Time” 

* * *

 

**Stuttgart, Germany**

**August 25, 1940**

The Waverider was in the air seconds after the jump ship re-docked with Sara and Mr. Rory on board. Rip didn’t even wait for Dr. Palmer and Firestorm to get to their jump seats; he punched it the second they were through the main hatch. It took a little bit of fancy flying to avoid the Allied bombardment, but within a minute they were out of Stuttgart and back in the Temporal Zone.

“So why didn’t Future Snart tell us he was sending us into the middle of the Blitz?” Mr. Jackson demanded as he strode back onto the bridge, Martin and Dr. Palmer just a little behind him.

“Actually, it wasn’t the Blitz,” Rip answered, rising from his captain’s chair. “That was in London. We were in Stuttgart, Germany.”

“It was bombs falling and things exploding in World War II!” the younger man countered. “Close enough to the Blitz for me.”

Martin added, “It _was_ rather a close call. I suppose our future selves never bother to share that detail with the future Mr. Snart, else he would have told us back in Central City.”

Rip strode over to the holo table. “Perhaps. But more important is that temporal anomaly Gideon detected when we arrived. Sara, Mr. Rory, you said you found the source?”

Sara’s voice came over the comms. “Found it at the Daimler factory and brought it back with us. Mick says this isn’t something the Nazis should have their hands on.”

“So what is it?” Dr. Palmer asked.

Mr. Rory answered this time. “You’d better come see for yourselves. We’re bringing it to the weapons room.”

Rip exchanged a worried glance with the other men. The weapons room was the most shielded spot on the Waverider, and if Mr. Rory was bringing their find there, it meant danger. “We’re on our way,” he said. 

They left the bridge at a run.

* * *

 

When they got to the weapons room, Mr. Rory looked grim, and Gideon was already scanning the contents of the wooden crate. Rip felt his heart plummet when he saw what was there.

“Gideon, please tell me that’s not…”

“I’m afraid it is, Captain,” the A.I. answered before he could finish the question. Rip let out a heavy sigh.

“This is bad news, Rip,” Mr. Rory said, prompting a growl of frustration from Sara.

“You two are doing it again!” she said sharply. “Want to explain what this stuff is for those of us who didn’t go to Time Master School?”

Rip pinched the bridge of his nose, and then stared again at the large, dark rock in the crate. It was shot through with veins of silver. The crate also held a small pile of ingots in the same silver color. Apparently whoever had found it had tried to work the silver metal. “This, Sara, is chronium, a rare metal used in Time Master technology. It is reactive to the time stream. It’s an element of the Waverider’s time drive, and a major element of the Oculus.”

“I’ve never heard of this before,” Martin said, crouching down for a closer look.

“Of course you haven’t,” Rip said. “The technology to detect and refine chronium is more than a century in your future. Someone just stumbled across this bit of it and worked it badly. _Don’t_ touch that!” he snapped as the scientist reached for one of the ingots. “This chronium hasn’t been processed properly. Touching it will give you a nasty burn.”

Mr. Jackson pulled his partner back to his feet and away from the crate. “Why would Future Snart have us go looking for this stuff?”

“It must be a clue to where we can find him,” Dr. Palmer theorized, a smile of anticipation on his face.

Rip nodded. “Indeed.” At Sara’s hopeful look, he continued, “But this is not a cause for celebration, I’m afraid. Let’s continue this discussion on the bridge. If I’m going to explain this, I need some things from my study, and the holographic display table.”

“They’re also going to need some liquor once you do explain it,” Mr. Rory rumbled. “I need it already.”

* * *

Rip began by pulling out his archaic maps of the time stream and laying them out across the holo table. “Do you remember these, Sara? Martin?”

Sara touched the paper. “Sure. Maps of the time stream. You had me use them to navigate when Savage knocked Gideon offline.”

Rip nodded. “At the time, you asked me about Jurgen’s Ridge.”

“And you said to pray we need never find out what it is,” Martin remembered. “We’re going to find out now, aren’t we?”

Rip took in a deep breath and let it out. “I’m afraid so.” He grabbed a glass and poured himself a shot of the liquor Mr. Rory had pulled out. Just a shot of courage. He downed it, then began to speak.

“All right. You all know the Vanishing Point exists outside of time. Think of it as a geographic pole. It doesn’t move. We go to it, but it will never come to us.” He pointed to the symbol representing Jurgen’s Ridge on the map’s bottom margin, opposite the Vanishing Point’s symbol at the top margin. “Jurgen’s Ridge is more like a magnetic pole. It moves through time, emerging into our world at various points throughout history. Chronium is a byproduct of its appearance here on Earth.”

“So this Jurgen’s Ridge emerged in Stuttgart,” Dr. Palmer said. “I don’t suppose it’s a coincidence that it appeared as the city was coming under attack?”

“You’re correct, Dr. Palmer,” Rip said. “To go back to the analogy, the Earth’s magnetic north pole moves according to the planet’s magnetic field, which is affected by the Earth’s core. In the same way, this ‘pole,’ Jurgen’s Ridge, is affected by the planet’s psychic field.” He put his fingertips on the map and traced a random pattern across the time stream. “It’s drawn to places of stress and fear. The Time Masters retrieved a great deal of chronium from many of history’s most horrific sites, from Wounded Knee to the gas chambers at Auschwitz. Jurgen’s Ridge has also appeared in places known for paranormal phenomena.”

Mr. Jackson’s eyebrows went up. “You mean haunted houses.”

“What does this have to do with finding Leonard?” Sara asked.

“That is why I need the holo display,” Rip said, removing the map. “Gideon, on my order, I need you to play back the explosion of the Oculus Wellspring at half speed.” He looked at Sara and Mr. Rory. “I’m sorry if this causes you any pain, but I have a theory and an analysis of the playback is the only way for me to know if I’m right.”

Sara closed her eyes, and took in a few breaths. “He said it wouldn’t be easy, finding him again,” she said at last, opening her eyes again. Mr. Rory moved beside her and laid an arm across her shoulders. “But he also told us not to give up on him. What are we looking for?”

“Scan for raw chronium, Gideon,” Rip said. “Begin.”

“Playback begins,” Gideon said, in a tone that sounded subdued.

The recording showed the Oculus building from above. They could see Sara emerging, dragging Mr. Rory’s unconscious form until Rip came to assist her with the big man. The perspective changed as the Waverider moved away, and they could barely make out the figures moving into the building just before it exploded.

Rip gave silent thanks that the recording couldn’t show the tears in Sara’s eyes as she fled the Oculus building, or Mr. Snart in those final moments. He didn’t think he could face either of those images. Then he leaned forward as he saw what he was looking for.

Bright blue-white points, right in the middle of the Oculus building as it exploded. Right where Snart would have been standing, elbow-deep in the device.

“There!” Rip exclaimed, pointing at that section of the image. “Jurgen’s Ridge emerged right at the point of the explosion.”

“But what does that mean?” Martin asked.

Mr. Rory answered, in a grim tone. “The Ridge doesn’t just leave chronium behind. It can also take things… and people... away.”

“You saying it took Snart?” Mr. Jackson asked in excitement. “That’s what he was trying to tell us?”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Dr. Palmer demanded in turn. “We knew he was alive. Now we know where to find him.”

“Tell ‘em the rest of it,” Mr. Rory ordered gruffly. “Tell ‘em about Jurgen.” His grip on Sara tightened just a little, and Rip couldn’t blame him for that.

“Time Master Jurgen is the man who first tried to track the Ridge, in an effort to control it and collect the chronium directly from it, without having to chase it through history,” Rip told them. “He ended up getting trapped on the Ridge. It took the Time Masters five years to retrieve him.”

“How did he survive?” Sara asked, her eyes widening as she stepped away from Mr. Rory.

“Just as at the Vanishing Point, time does not exist on the Ridge,” Rip explained. “Physically, Jurgen was fine. And if Mr. Snart is indeed trapped on Jurgen’s Ridge, his physical body will be unharmed, because it will be as if no time has passed for him. He is just as he was when the Oculus was destroyed.”

“But?” Sara prompted sharply, moving closer to Rip and looking into his eyes with that clear blue gaze that wouldn’t accept any equivocation, much as he wanted to answer with it. As strong as he knew her to be, he didn’t want to add a new fear to her burden.

But she would never accept being coddled, either.

Rip looked down at the deck for a moment, then met her eyes again. “The Ridge travels through the time stream, Sara. All possibilities are visible to a man on the Ridge. Jurgen saw it all… what was, what is, what could be. _All_ the things that could be, in their infinite combinations.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, and he forced himself to finish. “Jurgen’s body was fine, but his mind was broken by all he’d seen. When he was retrieved, he was quite insane.”

Horror filled Sara’s eyes, as Mr. Jackson took in a shocked breath and Dr. Palmer just shook his head in denial.

“My God,” Martin whispered hoarsely.

“There is no God,” Mr. Rory growled. “But there is a hell, and my partner is trapped in it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins. As noted in the tags: This is a rescue fic. I'm not sure how long it will take to pull off, but I have a history of epic fix-it adventures, so this might possibly take us through the summer. (And I haven't forgotten I have other works in progress.)
> 
> Comments are love and feed my muse. (Which means we get Leonard rescued faster!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was finished a lot more quickly than I expected. Future chapters will take more time, because they’re going to take actual research as opposed to plain ol’ imagination. From my initial plotting, I’m expecting 7 chapters total. But I’ve been known to go long!
> 
> Many thanks to Jael/stillwordgirl for the beta and for letting me bounce crazy ideas off her.
> 
> And yeah, the characters still belong to DC Entertainment.

* * *

**In the Temporal Zone**

“All possibilities are visible to a man on the Ridge,” Rip told her. “Jurgen saw it all… what was, what is, what could be. All the things that could be, in their infinite combinations.” His voice had dropped to a whisper. “Jurgen’s body was fine, but his mind was broken by all he’d seen. When he was retrieved, he was quite insane.” 

Sara’s eyes widened in horror. She could hear Jax take in a shocked breath, and Stein’s hoarse whisper of, “My God.”

“There is no God,” Mick growled. “But there is a hell, and my partner is trapped in it.”

There was a heavy silence on the Waverider’s bridge after that. It hung there for a few moments, until Ray broke it with just one word.

“Baloney.”

Sara turned away from Rip to stare at Ray, who was shaking his head. He wasn’t looking as shocked as Stein and Jax looked, as she _felt_.

“What do you mean, Haircut?” She could hear the low burn of anger in Mick’s voice behind her.

Ray put his hands up in a placating manner. “We’re all forgetting that we _talked_ to the future Leonard Snart, right after we killed Savage. Did _that_ Leonard Snart seem insane to any of you?” He looked her in the eyes. “What do you think, Sara?”

She thought about the man who’d given her such a devastating, passionate kiss on that rooftop, not so long ago. He was older than the Leonard she’d known, and, even without that kiss, openly affectionate with her and with Mick, as his younger self had never been. _“The Leonard you knew missed a lot of opportunities,”_ he’d told her.

She remembered the look in his eyes after he kissed her. Regret, but for what? Was it for what they had missed before? Or for what she would face to get him back? _“_ _It’s not going to be easy for you, but it will be all right.”_

She remembered him saying what his younger self had never said. _“I love you.”_

Tears stung her eyes again at those memories, but she managed to keep her voice steady to say, “He was different. Not… closed off.” She didn’t trust herself to say more.

“Definitely not that,” Ray agreed with an understanding smile.

She blinked away the tears. “But… no. He didn’t seem insane.” She turned to look at Mick and Rip. “And I’ve seen insane more than once.”

Thoughtfully, Stein said, “All Clarissa could talk about was how charming he’d seemed, and how reassuring he was to her about our adventures.”

“I think my mom was crushing on him,” Jax added with a sheepish look. “I’m not sure if it bugs me more that she had a crush, or that it was on Snart.”

Rip cleared his throat. “I have to agree, the man we met that day certainly seemed to be in his right mind. And he pointed us in the right direction to look for him, if he is indeed on Jurgen’s Ridge.”

Sara turned to Mick, who was still glowering. “But you’re not so convinced, are you?”

Mick grabbed the whiskey off the holo table and took a swig. He wiped his mouth and said, “I want to be convinced, Blondie. I remember Rip telling us that blowing the Oculus could have sent ripples through all of time. But I also know what the Time Masters taught me about Jurgen.”

He shook his head. “The Snart we met on the rooftop didn’t seem insane. But you noticed it then: _He wasn’t the man we knew_. He kissed both of us, in front of everyone.” He shook his head with a little huff. “We were partners for thirty years, and he never did anything like that with me before. And I’m willing to bet he never did with you before either. Showing how he felt was never his thing.”

She sighed and shook her own head. Mick was right; as many times as she’d thought – dreamed – about Leonard’s lips touching her own, it hadn’t happened until she took the initiative at the Oculus. As close as they’d been, he’d always maintained a physical distance, with only a few exceptions that were burned into her memories.

 _Dammit._ The tears were still too close to the surface, and her eyes welled up with regret for lost opportunities.

Silence loomed again. This time, it was Stein who broke it. “Might I suggest that life-threatening events can radically change a person? Make them shed previous inhibitions?” He put a hand on Sara’s shoulder. “We all saw how the future Mr. Snart looked at you on that rooftop, Sara. It was the same way his younger self looked at you when he thought no one was paying attention, long before we ever went to the Vanishing Point.”

This… this was a surprise. “You… saw?”

Stein smiled slightly. “Well, _I_ did. Observation is my business as a scientist, my dear. And I choose to have faith. I believe whatever he is seeing at Jurgen’s Ridge is turning him into the man we met.” He leaned closer, and said more quietly, “The man who is deeply in love with you.”

“I hope you’re right, Professor,” Mick said. He looked down at the deck. “I don’t want to think about his mind being broken. Knowing who he was… who he _is_ … I couldn’t stand it.”

“You resisted becoming Chronos again,” Ray pointed out, prompting Mick to look back up. “You were stubborn enough to hold out against the Time Masters’ conditioning.”

Rip nodded. “I can think of only one person on this team who was… _is_ … more stubborn and more determined than you, Mr. Rory, and that’s Leonard Snart.”

“Snart did freeze off his own hand in Nanda Parbat,” Jax said. “It takes a tough guy to be able to do that.”

“And he did it to keep us from killing you,” Rip added, pointing to Mick. “Mr. Rory, he may never have overtly stated his feelings for you, but at least twice on our journey, he showed them by saving your life, in Nanda Parbat and at the Oculus.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” Ray agreed.

“We have to try,” Jax insisted. “He’d try for us.”

Mick gave it some thought and nodded.

Sara took in a deep breath, trying to calm her roiled emotions. “So, speaking of action, what do we do now? How do we get him back?”

Rip stroked his beard. “Sara, I don’t know. Yet.”

Stein gave her shoulder a squeeze. “But we will figure it out.”

* * *

Mick had taken the whiskey back to his room. He offered the bottle to Sara when she wandered in and sat next to him on his bed, midway through a sleepless ship’s night. 

She tried not to think about the last time she’d shared liquor straight from the bottle, but couldn’t prevent the memory from rising up. It had been with Mick and Leonard, sitting on the bridge drinking Rob Roy’s whiskey while the team debated what to do with Savage. She remembered how Leonard’s hand had lightly brushed against hers as they passed the bottle back and forth, a so-brief touch of skin against skin.

That thought led her to another memory, of the too-brief touch of her lips to his. She took another drink and closed her eyes against the tears that threatened again.

“Blondie…”

Her words were choked. “He tried, Mick. You know? He tried to talk to me about the future, and about him and me.”

Mick grunted and took the bottle back for another swig. “Thought he’d come around to that sometime.” He gave a half-hearted smirk when Sara looked over at him. “The Professor’s not the only one who can observe things.”

She wiped at her eyes. “I thought he was just being… _him_. I didn’t take him seriously.” She laughed bitterly. “Told him if he wanted to steal a kiss, he’d better be one hell of a thief.”

Mick chuckled. “That’s what he liked about you, Blondie. You were a challenge.” She looked at him curiously. “Listen. I watched women and men throw themselves at Lenny and his good looks for years. Usually he ignored ‘em. Sometimes he used ‘em. One time, _he_ got used, but that was when he was still practically a kid. It just taught him to be on his guard.”

He took another drink. “He liked people who forced him to up his game. It’s why the Flash interested him so much. The speedster challenged him to be a better criminal at first. Then Lenny told me the Flash challenged him to be a hero. He laughed about it when he told me, but then we wound up here on the Waverider.”

Mick stretched his arm around Sara’s shoulders. “And then there was you, the woman who’d been dead for a year. Right from Day One, you were a puzzle he wanted to figure out. You impressed the hell out of him in that bar fight, you know. Then you refused to take any crap from him, ever. I could tell he was hooked.” He chuckled softly. “And then your looks were just the icing on the cake for him.”

His mouth curved in a full-on smirk at her widened eyes. “Lenny liked… _likes_ beautiful things. He stole money because it was practical, but he preferred to take jewels and artwork, even if he had to fence ‘em later.” He drank again. “I guess stealing pretty stuff made up for his ugly childhood.”

He offered her the bottle again and squeezed her shoulders. “Don’t you go feeling guilty for pushing back at him. He’d have expected it from you. And if he’d had the time, he’d have found a way to steal that kiss.”

“He didn’t have to,” Sara told him. “I kissed him… right before…”

Mick smiled. “Good for you. And when we get him back, I’ll be sure to pull his head out of his ass so he doesn’t waste any more time.”

Sara shifted to lean against Mick. “If we get him back.”

“We will, Blondie. He already promised.”

* * *

He was awakened by the sensation of something sharp… make that many sharp somethings… poking his back, his legs, his head. He opened his eyes and pushed himself to a sitting position, hissing when his hands landed on more sharp somethings. 

His vision was blurry. He could only make out brightness, mostly white, but with other colors sometimes flashing through.

_Flash? Red and yellow…_

He shook his head. He could hear…

_Feel?_

…the words, but couldn’t make any sense from them yet.

He tried to focus on his hands, to see what the sharp somethings had done to them. That was easier. His left hand still had the marks…

_Scars…_

…that he’d known for so long.

_How long?_

He didn’t know. Trying to remember… _hurt_. So he went back to focusing on his hands. The right… it looked a little different. Something was missing.

_Ring…_

_Scars…_

Familiar things were gone. But there was no blood from the sharp somethings.

He could feel a tingle on his skin, almost like a burn. But the color and texture of the skin was fine. He knew what burns looked like…

_How?_

…and he couldn’t see that kind of damage on his palms or his long fingers. He shifted his focus to scan his body. It, too, seemed undamaged, his legs stretched out on a surface of black rocks. Those had to be the sharp somethings that had been poking him.

His vision was beginning to clear. He could see the rock surface rising to his right. And on his left….

A riot of colors streaming by him. As his eyes became more able to focus, he could make out images. People, places. Even sounds. Too many to sort.

And this stream of images was getting closer.

He pushed himself to his feet, a bit unsteadily, and watched the image stream. Definitely getting closer, and some of the images becoming clearer.

_People running, crying out in fear._

_A burning city._

_A mushroom cloud._

It was too much. He turned away from the image stream, only to find it surrounding him, lapping at his knees, his thighs. It was like being caught in a rising river. He needed to get to higher ground.

The slope of black rock rose out of the stream. Climbing it would get him away from the images and give him a chance to think.

To remember who he was, and how he got here.

He took a breath and got ready to climb.

But the images washed over him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know I’m evil. Please let me know what you think in comments (but you don’t have to tell me I’m evil).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is beginning to feel like it might be a little more epic than I'd expected. So the planned number of chapters reverts to a question mark
> 
> Thanks again to Jael for looking this over.

He felt like he was being sucked under by a huge wave. Or perhaps caught in an avalanche. At first, he held his breath in an instinctive reaction to those feelings, while the most primitive part of his brain screamed that he was about to die. It took a moment for intellect to reassert itself and insist that the wave was nothing more than images and visions, and those could not drown him. 

Once he had that fear under control, he began observing the images themselves. Once again, he saw the people running in terror, the burning city, the mushroom cloud. But that wasn’t all. He saw soldiers armed with muskets and bayonets, laying waste to a town. A woman screaming as her child was murdered in front of her. Wounded, beaten men in rags staggering through a filthy corridor. People in bloody clothes digging through rubble. A stunned crowd watching a man set himself on fire.

The images were coming even more quickly, visions of war and destruction and death, accompanied by the sounds of weeping and screaming. The speed and the weight of these visions were starting to make him feel as if he really was drowning.

It was too much. He clapped his hands over his ears, slammed his eyes shut and shouted, _“STOP!”_

With his hands pressed over his ears, the clamor from the stream was muffled by the sound of his own pulse. He focused on that first, listening to the rush of blood through his veins. With his eyes still closed, he shuffled one foot forward, up the slope of black rock he knew was still there. Then he shuffled the other foot forward.

Slowly, blindly, he moved up the slope, taking one shuffling step after another, still concentrating on the sounds of his pulse and his breathing. After a while he realized the outside sound had diminished. He opened his eyes, looked down and saw he was no longer standing in the stream of images. Lowering his hands, he turned to see the stream running just below him, with individual… currents rising up like waves, offering him glimpses of what seemed to be different times, different places.

He shook his head, refusing what was offered. “I don’t really give a damn about the Wikipedia crap,” he said. Then he laughed at himself. As if there was anyone here to hear him, as if there was anyone here who gave a damn what Leonard Snart thought.

Wait. _Leonard Snart._ That… that was his _name._

As if in answer to that realization, one current of images rose above the others, showing him a man wearing dark goggles. Another man holding a struggling woman stood behind the man in goggles.

_“Greetings, citizens of Central City. I am Leonard Snart, but you can call me Cold.”_

He narrowed his eyes, and another image came to the fore. Two men sitting in a car.

_“Snart’s been deterred before, but once he goes after something, he doesn’t stop until he gets it. Ever.”_

The current shifted again, and he saw… himself… crouching over a prone man in a red leather suit.

_“I’m a criminal. And a liar. And I hurt people. And I rob them.”_

Another change of scene, and the man who had been holding the struggling woman was back. This time he was alone, standing in a noisy bar, hardly able to look up at the person he was speaking to.

_“You may not think you’re a hero, but you’re a hero to me.”_

Leonard frowned. Apparently he had a lot to learn about himself, and perhaps this… river… could show him that. And maybe show him how he got here.

Wherever “here” was.

He kicked away some of the sharp rocks to give himself some bare ground and settled down onto it. “All right, then,” he said out loud. He still didn’t know if there was anyone listening, but what the hell. “Show me.”

* * *

It had been two weeks since Rip and the Nerd Twins had promised to come up with a way to rescue Leonard. Two freaking _weeks_ , and during that time Sara’s patience had started to fray. 

She’d been itching to _go go go_ from the instant “Future Leonard” disappeared from that rooftop. But first the Waverider needed repairs that took over a week. Then they mistimed their arrival in 1940 Stuttgart, getting there a week before Leonard had told them to be there. Rip later hypothesized that it had to do with the Ridge causing eddies in the time stream, and Ray pointed out that the week had given them time to locate the chronium and plan a way to get it out of the Daimler factory.

Trust Ray to always look at the bright side.

It was now a month since the Oculus for the Waverider crew, and she was beginning to understand why that older Leonard had told her it wouldn’t be easy. Waiting had never been her strong suit, especially when she couldn’t do anything to move things along faster. Stein and Ray were working with Rip and Gideon on calculations using math that was beyond anything she’d learned in school.

It was almost as bad as being marooned in 1958 with Ray and Kendra. Just without the prejudices and (she had to admit it) the cloying sweetness of her friends’ relationship.

She could tell Mick was frustrated too. He didn’t like waiting any more than she did. He’d sat in on some of the sessions with the scientists and the ex-Time Master, but it wasn’t long before he said they were working on concepts Chronos had never been taught. He started spending a lot of time in the weapons room, getting familiar with Rip’s energy guns and fiddling with his own Heat Gun.

A couple of times, Sara found him sitting there cradling the Cold Gun as if it was something precious. The first time, she slipped away from the room unseen, not wanting to intrude. But the second time, Mick spotted her and reached out a hand, pulling her against him in a temporary surrender to grief and doubt.

That was one of the nights they both wound up drinking themselves to sleep.

Training helped provide a balm for their wounded feelings and a diversion from the boredom of waiting. Sometimes she would spar with Mick, and he surprised her with a few dirty tricks learned in many a jail yard brawl. Other times she’d work with Jax, teaching him how to defend himself when he wasn’t merged with Stein as Firestorm.

But even though a warrior trains every day, honing her skills, there was a point where one’s edge could become too thin, too brittle. Sara was just about at that point when Rip called them all to the bridge.

He began with an apology of sorts. “I know the wait has been a strain, especially for you, Sara, and for you, Mr. Rory,” he said. “And I’m afraid I will have to ask you to continue to be patient. But none of us will have to wait in idleness any longer.”

“Good,” Mick said. “So you have a plan?”

“We do,” Rip said. “Dr. Palmer, if you would begin, please.”

Ray cleared his throat. “Right. Well, you already know Jurgen’s Ridge appears in different spots throughout history. Sort of like a bottle bobbing on the ocean. We started out by trying to come up with ways to catch the Ridge. We had Gideon run through her historical records to try to predict where it would emerge, and then we ran simulations to see the impact of an interception.”

Stein picked up the thread. “In every simulation, when we tried to intercept the Ridge, the presence of a time drive would push it away. Just like a change in current or a sudden wave could push that hypothetical bottle out of one’s reach.”

“Except for Jurgen himself, the Time Masters never tried to actually reach the Ridge,” Rip added. “Instead, they followed it through time, in order to harvest the chronium it left behind.”

“So how did Jurgen manage to catch up to the Ridge?” Sara asked.

Rip shrugged. “I don’t know, Sara,” he said. “That is another bit of knowledge the Time Masters never shared with any of their captains or their AIs.”

“Compartmentalization,” Mick said with a nod. “They’d tell you only what you needed to know.”

“So if we can’t actually catch the Ridge, what do we do?” Jax asked. “We can’t leave Snart there.”

Ray smiled. “If we can’t get to the mountain, then we need to make it come to us. Gideon?”

A display of the time stream appeared above the holo table. It was as if Rip’s parchment map had been blown into three dimensions and animated. Gideon said, “The red triangle designates Jurgen’s Ridge.”

The triangle appeared, disappeared and reappeared at different points along the map. “There doesn’t seem to be any kind of pattern here,” Sara observed after a few moments.

“There isn’t one,” Ray agreed. “But Gideon has records of places where it has appeared throughout time. With that information, we can give it a few nudges to send it where we want it. Gideon?”

The display changed, with six blue diamonds suddenly appearing at different points along the stream. The red triangle bounced from diamond to diamond, until it finally intersected with an orange circle. “The orange circle represents the Waverider,” Gideon said. “The blue diamonds are deflection points, where Jurgen’s Ridge can be redirected until it intersects with the Waverider’s position.”

“Like bumpers in a pinball game,” Jax said.

Stein nodded. “Precisely, Jefferson. And may I compliment you on actually knowing what a pinball game is?" 

Jax laughed. “I used to play it online,” he said. Stein’s face fell a little.

“Never mind the arcade games,” Mick said. “Why wouldn’t our time drive just push it away again?”

“Each of these bumpers will be like roadblocks in the time stream. The Ridge won’t have anyplace to go until the Waverider leaves again,” Ray said. Then he grinned. “Think of them like cowboys herding cattle. The Waverider will be the corral.”

Mick rolled his eyes. “You spent too much time in the Old West, Haircut. So what do we use for these bumpers?” 

Rip smiled. “You and Sara brought it back from Stuttgart, Mr. Rory. We’ll use the chronium. Martin, would you explain, please?” 

“Certainly.” Stein put on what Sara recognized as his “lecture face,” standing a little straighter and adjusting his glasses. “You already know the Ridge is similar to Earth’s magnetic North Pole, but it moves in response to psychic fields rather than to magnetic fields. You may remember from your basic physics…”

Mick and Sara both chuckled, and Stein shrugged slightly. “Well. Maybe not. But magnetic field lines can be guided using a shaped magnetic material, like iron. We will use the chronium to guide the psychic field lines, thereby directing Jurgen’s Ridge right where we want it.” He smiled. “To use Dr. Palmer’s metaphor, herding it like cattle.”

“And Professor Stein and I have done the math to determine just where we need to put in those chronium bumpers,” Ray added.

Sara exchanged a look with Mick, and then turned to Rip. “You think this will work?”

He nodded, and said, “I do. More importantly, Gideon thinks it will work.”

Sara smiled, remembering how well Gideon’s plan had worked to disable the fleet of time ships at the Vanishing Point. “Gideon’s got a pretty good track record,” she said. “So now what? You said we’d still have to wait. For what?”

“We have to make the bumpers, don’t we?” Mick asked.

Rip pointed at him. “Exactly, Mr. Rory. We have raw chronium and poorly refined chronium. What we need is specifically shaped pieces of the properly refined metal. To get them, we’ll first need Firestorm to transmute away the unnecessary elements from that meteor. Then we’ll need your skills with heat, and Sara’s ability with metalworking.”

“Sara?” Jax asked in surprise.

She nodded. “In the League of Assassins we have to be able to make our own weapons,” she said. “So we all spend some time in the forges. I made my own knives. Both times.”

“You’re even more badass than I thought, Blondie,” Mick grinned. “Maybe you can make me a knife sometime. A big one." 

Sara grinned back as Rip raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure I like the idea of you with sharp objects, Mr. Rory. But we can talk about that some other time. For now, let’s get to work so we can catch our thief.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My understanding of physics is about as advanced as Mick and Sara's. The science-y stuff about magnetic fields came in part from physics dot stack dot exchange dot com.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team gets ready for a rescue, while Leonard is given a look into who he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very long wait between chapters. This one turned out to be tougher than expected, and there were a lot of distractions over the past three weeks (including a couple of drabbles that insisted on being written).
> 
> Thanks to Jael for looking this over and once again being a sounding board for ideas.

* * *

“That’s the last one,” Sara said, setting her tools down and rolling her shoulders to ease aches she hadn’t felt since her days in the League’s forges. “Man, I’m not used to using those muscles like that anymore.”

Mick shut down the Heat Gun and tossed her a towel. She rubbed it across her sweaty face. “Nice work, Blondie,” he grunted in approval.

Sara smiled a little, surveying the finished pieces spread across the worktable: A half-dozen teardrop-shaped plates of chronium, just the size and shape specified by Gideon. “They seem so small for what they’re supposed to do,” she observed.

“Little things make big things happen,” he replied.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “When did you become a philosopher?”

He snickered. “I didn’t. That was on one of those motivational posters in the therapist’s office at Iron Heights.”

“Why am I not surprised?" she asked with a chuckle of her own. “C’mon, these things need to sit and harden for a day. May as well see how the others are doing.”

Their path to the bridge took them past the weapons room. Mick hung the Heat Gun up and stared at the Cold Gun hanging next to it. When the stare started to go on too long, Sara touched his arm to divert his attention.

“We’re getting him back, Mick. He told us so. You’ve got to have faith.” He turned away from the Cold Gun with a visible effort and nodded at her. She gave him a slight smile and jerked her head in the direction of the bridge. “C’mon. Maybe there’s some news on our first destination.”

Ray and Stein had already done the math for placing the chronium plates. But it took Gideon’s data to turn those numbers into actual places and times. Not only that, but the placement of each plate would impact where the next plate would go.

So while Sara and Mick worked on the chronium plates, Gideon and the scientists had been refining their “road map” through time. Jax spent his days fine-tuning the engines on the Waverider and the jump ship, while Rip floated between all three groups, lending a hand where he could, and offering encouragement where he had no skill to do more.

So another week had passed. But as Rip promised, the time wasn’t spent in idleness.

Ray was beaming when Sara and Mick walked in. “Perfect timing!” he greeted them. “Gideon’s figured out our first two destinations.”

“Destinations, plural?” Sara walked up to the holo table to look at the display.

Stein nodded. “Gideon says we need to split the team and place two of your chronium plates at the same time. Or, as close to the same time as we can get with events that are hundreds of miles and hundreds of years apart.”

Rip emerged from his study with a small box. “That’s what these are for,” he said. “I just finished programming them. Each of these is suitable to the time you’ll be visiting.”

He handed Ray an old-fashioned wristwatch, and antique-looking pocket watches to Stein and Jax. For Sara, he had a locket on a silver chain.

“These devices are synchronized so they will count down to the time when you must complete the placement,” Gideon said.

Sara opened her locket and took in a surprised breath to see a black and white photo of Len inside.

Gideon must have recorded him in an unguarded moment. Even in such a tiny picture, Sara could see he wasn’t wearing his habitual smirk. Instead, his expression was… soft. Thoughtful.

She wondered what he’d been looking at.

She was so focused on the photo that she started a little when Rip reached in to show her how it flipped up to reveal a digital display. Once she nodded in understanding, he gave her a gentle smile and flipped the photo back down.

“Now, the timing is critical,” Rip told them. “Place your plate too early and the Ridge will be sent in the wrong direction, leaving all our work for naught. Place it too late and we will miss the opportunity to direct it.”

“Too early? So we’re going ahead of time, like Stuttgart again?” Mick asked.

Rip nodded. “We already know the presence of a time drive can redirect the Ridge, and we cannot have that happen until all our ‘bumpers’ are in place.” He looked at Mick. “Mr. Rory, you will pilot the jump ship, while I fly the Waverider. We will drop each team a few days in advance of their target time. Then we will skip ahead to extract them at a time right after the Ridge should have been diverted.”

“Both ships are ready to rock,” Jax said. “I checked over everything.” 

Sara closed her locket. “The plates will be ready to go this time tomorrow. So when and where are we going?”

“This is the cool part,” Ray said. “Sara, you and I are going on a booze cruise in the 1930s.”

Mick laughed. “Since when are _you_ excited about a booze cruise, Haircut?”

“Since it comes with a mystery,” Ray answered, an eager light in his eye. “The ship is the SS _Morro Castle_. I read all about it when I was a kid. It was a place people could legally drink during Prohibition. But the ship was also running guns to Cuba. On its last cruise in 1934, its captain died suddenly on the way back from Havana. Then the ship caught fire. It eventually ran aground in Asbury Park, New Jersey.”

“Of course it’s a shipwreck,” Sara said in a low, tight voice. “Been there and done that. Twice.” 

There was some uncomfortable shifting by the men, especially by Ray, who seemed to suddenly realize he’d been gleeful over a disaster that had cost lives. Rip looked at her with concern. “Sara, I wouldn’t ask you to do this, but in the 1930s, a man and woman traveling together on a pleasure cruise will be far less conspicuous than two men doing the same.”

Sara waved it off. “It’s all right, Rip. Part of the League’s training is to face your fears. Ra’s made me do it twice. I think I can handle it. So, how bad was this shipwreck, Ray?”

In a low voice, Ray asked, “Are you sure, Sara?”

“Yeah. Just tell me.”

He nodded and blew out a breath. “Well, 137 people died, which was horrible, and I know we can’t change it,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall Rip’s usual warning. “But I’ve wondered about the mystery for years. A central figure in the story is a guy everyone thought was a hero, but later they found he was really a villain.” He shrugged a little. “Exact opposite of some people we know.”

Mick threw Ray a mock-glower. Sara just sighed and shook her head. “At least it’s not the _Titanic_.”

“The Time Masters would have been all over the _Titanic_ disaster for chronium,” Rip said. “We have to avoid sites they’re likely to mine. But even small things can have a great impact, and there are smaller events all through history that still have their associated shares of fear, grief or anger… all of which serve to draw Jurgen’s Ridge through the time stream.”

“And a deadly shipwreck would certainly create a lot of fear,” Stein said. “What about this place Jefferson and I are going?”

“Lewiston, New York, December 1813,” Gideon reported. “The town fell victim to a devastating raid as part of the War of 1812. Historians compare the attack to the shock and awe campaigns of the 21st century Middle Eastern wars.” Two separate images appeared above the holo table. One was a blueprint of the doomed cruise ship, the other a map of the doomed town. Each had a large “X” on it.

“X marks the spot for placing your plates,” Rip said. “Gideon will have hard copies of these diagrams for you in the fabrication room, along with period-appropriate clothing. You’ll also find written briefs of the events you will witness. Although I’m sure Dr. Palmer can tell you more than you want to know about the _Morro Castle_ , Sara.”

He leaned forward against the table. “All of you already know not to tamper with the timeline. I just want to warn you that you are all walking into very dangerous times and places, so tread lightly and be as inconspicuous as you can. Good luck.”

* * *

 It was still too much. He’d said, “Show me,” and the stream of images once again threatened to overwhelm him with sights and sounds of… was this his past? People running, again… away from him? The sound of gunfire, and a loud but familiar whine.

“Too much noise,” Leonard said. He needed to focus on something smaller. Something quieter.

And the stream complied, showing him a tall man kneeling in front of a small boy. _“Don’t ever let anyone hurt you. Ever. Not here, and especially not here.”_

The stream moved on, and he saw the boy again, a few years older but still small, cowering under the upraised arm of a different man. _“You little shit, I’ll teach you!”_

Leonard closed his eyes as the blow fell, opening them again when he heard a child crying. _“Lenny, help me!”_

Now he saw a little girl crying. Maybe seven, eight years old? There was the boy again, a teenager now, crying himself as he tried to stanch blood from a deep cut on the girl’s shoulder. _“It’s gonna be okay, Lisa.”_

That name woke something in him. Lisa. Lisa was… important. “Show me Lisa,” he said. 

Something shifted in the image stream, and a sort of… thread? As good a name as any, he supposed… a golden thread lifted from the rest and wound its way around him.

 _“Leo, meet your baby sister Lisa.”_ A whiff of baby powder, a sense of softness and… joy… as he watched his younger self peer at the newborn bundle in his mother’s arms.

He couldn’t quite make out his mother’s face, but somehow he remembered that she would be gone not long after this.

Other images… memories... flowed past him: Lisa growing from a baby to a toddler running to him on unsteady legs; sitting with her at the kitchen table, showing her how to write the letters of the alphabet; teaching her to ride a golden bicycle, bandaging her knee after she fell from it, and getting a big hug and a kiss on the cheek for his trouble.

_“I love you, Lenny.”_

There were a lot of those childish hugs and kisses, and a lot of adoring looks. He wasn’t sure if he really deserved them, but they were happy memories. So was the image of him and Lisa sitting in that diner with their grandfather, eating lousy food, but still feeling happy and… _safe_ with the old man.

He knew that didn’t last long either.

There were too many memories of injuries, of fear, all inflicted by the person Leonard now recognized as his own father. He saw Lisa cowering, just as he had in his younger days, and saw himself stepping between her and his father over and over again.

He heard her screaming, and remembered the pain.

He closed his eyes against those memories. “I get the picture. Show me something else.”

Lisa as a teenager, wearing too much makeup and dancing around the house to the music of some boy band. Himself sitting white-knuckled in an old sedan while teaching her to drive, and later, frowning at her when he bailed her out of Juvie for stealing a car. Again he got a hug and a kiss on the cheek for his trouble.

Sometimes their duo became a trio, when they were joined by a tall blond-haired man ( _Mick,_ his shaky memories whispered) in a variety of criminal exploits. He watched them all grow older, smarter, wilier in ways to separate people from their wealth.

He watched Lisa become colder. No more hugs or kisses, no more adoring looks. Instead, there were sly smiles, smirks and nods.

_“Jerk.”_

_“Train wreck.”_

He felt some regret for what she… what _they_ had become. “Forget the trip down memory lane,” he said roughly. “What about now?”

He saw Lisa sitting at a table in a dim barroom, reading a piece of paper. The paper falls from her hands, and she covers her face to cry in a way he hadn’t seen since she was very little.

He closed his eyes and covered his own face, taking in a shuddering breath. “I… I can’t. I can’t see this any more. Show me something else.”

He wiped at his eyes and thought for a moment. “Show me Mick.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try not to make you all wait so long for the next installment! I'm hoping to be able to do some writing at Comic-Con this week.
> 
> I also plan to attend the Arrowverse panels on 7/23 and live tweet from them. My twitter handle (spaces are added to avoid bots) is @ lot _ fans _ mom if you want to follow me.
> 
> One more note: The SS Morro Castle was a real ship, and a real shipwreck. Interestingly, footage of the burning ship was used in a 1940s-era detective movie, where it was renamed the SS Wentworth Castle. (Not making this part up.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray learns something shocking during his mission with Sara to a booze cruise, and Rip gets a shock of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I’ve tried to be accurate about the Morro Castle, for storytelling purposes, I have condensed the timeline of the events of September 7th and 8th, 1934. (I feel justified, since the LoT Writing Room put H.G. Wells into the U.S. decades before his actual first trip.)
> 
> Many many thanks to Jael/stilltheworldgirl for going through this very very long chapter and making sure things stayed consistent.

_**Aboard the S.S. Morro Castle - September 7, 1934** _

Rip was right; Sara now knew more than she ever wanted to about the S.S. _Morro Castle_ , from the number of passengers on board during this run (318, plus the two of them) to its gross tonnage (11,520, as if that really mattered). She knew it ran on turboelectric engines, and that it catered to mostly middle-class folk who wanted to escape the woes of the Great Depression. And she knew it was supposed to dock in New York tomorrow.

But instead, it would run aground on the Jersey Shore.

She and Ray had boarded the ship in Havana two days before, posing as newlyweds staying in first class. It gave them a good excuse to spend their evenings locked in their stateroom more often than not. Judging by the knowing looks other passengers gave them at meal times, everyone _thought_ they were in there… doing what newlyweds do.

In actuality, Ray put on the ATOM suit, shrank and slipped out to explore the ship, going places passengers wouldn’t be allowed and feeding the information back to Sara, who took careful notes on routes and schedules.

She thought Leonard would have loved this.

It didn't take Ray long to scout the spot where they needed to plant the chronium shield. It would have to be inserted between two steel plates on the inner hull.

The bad news was that the spot was in the #2 hold, near stacked crates labeled "Sporting Goods" but actually carrying drugs and bottles of Cuban rum to New York, in exchange for guns that had been (illegally) delivered in Havana.

Of course there was only one way in. And of course it was guarded around the clock by a single seaman, with a shift change every six hours.

It would be so much easier if Ray could just shrink the chronium down in his suit and sneak it in that way. But he said that would alter the atomic structure of the metal and render it useless. So they’d have to get the guard away from the door and then get into the hold to plant the shield.

And they’d have to do it just before one in the morning, the time when passengers would be alerted to the fire and panic would sweep through the _Morro Castle_ , drawing Jurgen’s Ridge like a magnet drawing steel. Too early, and the deflection wouldn’t work. Too late, and they’d lose their chance to redirect the Ridge and eventually save Leonard.

Sara looked over her notes, glad that their first-class stateroom included a large table where she could spread out the pages. She wondered what Leonard would do in her shoes. She’d never been the kind of planner he was; her specialty involved less thinking and more hitting.

But still, it was better for her to plan this than Ray. Cunning and deceitfulness just weren’t in his toolbox, and he wasn’t happy with her suggestion for getting the guard away.

To be honest, she didn’t much care for the idea either: Playing the siren to lure the poor man elsewhere so Ray could break in. But they both thought a honey trap was less risky than an outright fight that could draw unwanted attention. And they agreed it was better than knocking the guard out and possibly leaving him to die when the fire swept through the ship. They both knew that could change history.

But knocking him out was still a last resort, if she couldn’t lead the guard away on a wild Canary chase.

She looked up from her notes to her reflection in the vanity mirror, making one last adjustment to her hair as she ran through the plan again in her mind. She stood and turned at the sound of the ATOM suit expanding behind her.

Ray was gaping at her, just a little. “Wow. That’s a killer dress.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “That some kind of League of Assassins joke?”

He put up his hands and shook his head. “No, of course not! You look great!” He began removing the ATOM suit piece by piece.

“All the better to seduce the guard away from the hold later,” she said, smoothing her hands down the light green silk of her evening gown. It had a fitted, halter-style bodice and a skirt that flowed just enough for her to be able to move in a fight if she needed to.

Ray chuckled. “Sara, these guys probably haven’t touched a woman in months. They can’t go ashore unless they want to lose their jobs, and they don’t get to be around the women who are on board. You could wear a burlap bag and still seduce one of them.” She snickered at that, not taking any offense.

The ATOM suit finally removed, he shrank it back down and put it into its carrying case. “You should keep the dress, though. And when we get Snart back, wear it to take him dancing.” Now stripped down to the thermals he wore under the ATOM suit, he stepped into the bathroom to put on the evening wear that was waiting for him.

“Leonard doesn’t dance,” she replied. She raised her skirt to slip a dagger into her garter. Just in case. 

Ray laughed from the other side of the bathroom door. “If he sees you in that dress, he’ll dance. Or he’ll come up with some other excuse to put his arms around you.”

She let the skirt fall again and surveyed her reflection one more time. “What makes you so certain?”

“Trust me, Sara. The Professor’s not the only one who was observant,” Ray answered as he opened the door. He was now wearing black dress pants, a dark green cummerbund, a white tuxedo shirt and a white dinner jacket. He began tying his dark green bow tie. “Keep the dress. I’ll make sure you get a chance for that dance.”

She smirked at him and stepped closer to him, so she could reach up and adjust the bow tie. “Still the hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

He smiled down at her. “ _Hopeful_ romantic, to quote _‘Romancing The Stone,_ ’” he corrected. “If you two can come through all of this, then there’s some hope for the rest of us.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s 8:55. Let me bring you up to speed before we go to dinner.”

She sat in one of the chairs, while Ray settled onto the end of the bed (which they’d deliberately mussed to keep up appearances for the maids who would make up the bed during dinner). “Captain Wilmott is dead. They found him in his own bathroom about an hour ago.”

That was another of the facts he’d rattled off to her. “You told me it happened tonight.”

He nodded. “Sure. But it’s one thing to read about history. It’s another to see…” His voice trailed off as he looked down.

“Ray, you weren’t in there when he died?” she asked with some concern. Ray wasn’t a trained killer, able to be objective about death.

“No, no, no.” He shook his head. “But… I went in after, and got a sample of his blood and did a bio-scan.”

“Bio-scan? Since when can you do that?” she asked curiously.

He shrugged. “Well, while you were busy blacksmithing on the Waverider, I adapted the bio-scanning program from Gideon and added it to my faceplate. I figure it will come in handy.”

She nodded. Ray did come up with some good ideas. “So what did you find?”

“Arsenic,” Ray answered in a grim voice. “He was poisoned. And I found a bottle of arsenic in the Chief Radio Officer’s quarters, along with the makings of a fountain pen bomb. ”

Sara wasn’t surprised. Ray had spent the past two days telling her about the theories and suspects in the wreck of the _Morro Castle._ Particularly about the Chief Radio Officer, George White Rogers, a serial arsonist and killer who would, incredibly, be lauded as the hero of the _Morro Castle_ disaster until years later. Ray’s description of the man made Vandal Savage seem…. well, maybe not sane, but perhaps… better adjusted.

For a lunatic.

“It’s just what you suspected,” she reminded him. “But like you said, reading about it is very different from actually seeing it.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to watch _‘Titanic’_ again,” Ray said. “I know we haven’t spent much time with these people, but still… knowing so many of them are going to die tonight… It’s just too real.”

“It _is_ reality,” she reminded him. “We don’t have to like it. We just can’t get in the way.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how the Time Masters were able to let things like this happen. To _make_ things like this happen.” He shook his head with a sigh and looked at his watch again. “We should head out. Don’t say anything about the Captain; it’s going to be announced to first class at dinner.”

He picked up the case for the ATOM suit and tucked it into his coat pocket while she gathered up her notes and packed them into her trunk so the maids wouldn’t see them, keeping only the section with the floor plan Ray had drawn of the hold. Then she took the small but all-important piece of chronium out of the trunk and put it with the sketch into the beaded handbag Gideon had fabricated for her. It was a little larger than was fashionable, but function was more important than fashion tonight.

Ray offered her his arm. “Mrs. Palmer? Shall we go puttin’ on the Ritz?”

He started humming the old tune. She smirked at him, grabbing a silken shawl to throw around her shoulders before they swept out of the room.

* * *

 

Normally, the last night of a cruise would be filled with all kinds of festivities. But dinner was a somber affair once the passengers were told about the death of the ship’s captain.

There were a few spots around the ship where small groups were trying to enjoy a revel during their last night on the ship. But the cruise director, normally in charge of onboard fun, had appointed himself the onboard killjoy for the night, stopping all carousing in the public rooms out of respect for Captain Wilmott.

At one point he glared at Sara and Ray, who had been at the edge of a small party in the verandah café. “You two have barely come out of your stateroom since you boarded. Don’t you want to go back?”

Sara giggled at him, perfectly playing the part of the blushing bride. Ray grabbed her hand, and after a sly wink at the cruise director, led her out of the cafe onto the outside deck.

It was damp and chilly, and Ray draped his dinner jacket over her shoulders. The ship had been skirting a storm for more than a day, riding through rough seas, but right now they were in a brief respite from the weather.

Ray looked at his watch. “It’s midnight. If the theories are right, Rogers will plant the pen bomb in the writing room sometime in the next twenty minutes.” He met her eyes. “I know it sounds crazy, but…”

“But you have to see,” Sara finished.

“That’s not weird… Is it weird?” Ray asked in that tone boding a babble ahead. Sara reached up and put a hand over his mouth to stop it.

“Out of all the weird things we’ve done and seen since we joined the Waverider, this may be one of the least weird, Ray.” She pulled her hand away and reached for the ATOM suit in his jacket pocket. “Go on, solve your mystery.”

He took it with a nod. “I’m gonna just… change in the storage closet at the end of the passageway. I won’t be long. What about you?”

“I’m just going to walk around a bit, get a little air while I can, before the winds pick up again. The room’s getting a bit stale.” She huffed at the look of concern he gave her. “Ray, I’ll be fine. The shipwreck fear is turning out to be easier to control than the bloodlust.”

“We’re still in the easy part of this mission,” he reminded her.

“I’ll be _fine_.” She flipped open her locket to check the countdown clock. “Just keep your comm on. I’ll meet you at the stairway near the hold door in forty-five minutes.”

“It’s called a companionway,” he corrected. He grinned at her glare and went back inside.

Sara closed the locket again and adjusted the jacket over her shoulders before ambling down the deck toward… what was it called? Oh, right. The stern of the ship.

The sky was clouded over, so all she could see on the water were the glades of light thrown by the _Morro Castle’s_ lamps. No other passengers were out on the deck. According to Ray’s information, most of them had taken to their beds by this point.

She stopped and leaned against a railing about halfway down the ship. (“Amidships,” said the little Ray voice in her head. Yet another bit of nautical knowledge he’d shared with her.) She ran over the plan one more time in her head:

Just before one a.m., she would approach the guard at the hold entrance and convince him to follow her to a small cleaning closet Ray had discovered down the passageway. As soon as they were gone, Ray would break into the hold and plant the chronium shield, then shrink and make his escape, signaling Sara over the comm to leave the guard high and dry (or maybe hot and bothered, though she really hoped it wouldn’t get that far).

Gideon had projected the emergence of Jurgen’s Ridge right after one a.m. If all the math done by Ray and Stein was right, it would be bounced away from this place and time almost as quickly as it appeared. 

Then they would have to wait about fifteen more minutes, until the _Morro Castle_ lost its electric power. That was when Rip was scheduled to return with the Waverider to pick them up, under cover of smoke and darkness.

It sounded simple enough, but Sara could remember Leonard’s dark warning that the best-laid plans could go sideways. And she didn’t feel this was anywhere near a best-laid plan.

It was just all they had.

She opened her locket again, this time to look at Leonard’s picture. She still wondered what he’d been looking at when Gideon recorded it, but she was also pleased that Rip had picked this particular image. It reminded her of how Leonard had looked at her when they were trapped together in the engine room, back when they took those first tentative steps toward trusting each other.

“It’s a chilly evening for a young lady to be out alone on deck, even with a borrowed dinner jacket.”

She looked up to see a large man in a white officer’s uniform approaching her. He was carrying a small box, and wore a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You are… Mrs. Palmer, correct? I believe I saw you boarding with your husband in Havana?”

“That’s right,” Sara said warily.

“George White Rogers, Chief Radio Officer, at your service, madam.” His gaze traveled up and down her body, finally resting on the locket, which still lay open in her hand. “A handsome gentleman… but that’s not your husband.”

She quickly closed it. “No. He’s my brother.”

He raised an eyebrow, possibly detecting the lie. “An unusual choice for a newlywed, to wear a locket with a photo of her brother instead of her husband.”

“Well, my husband is here with me, but Leonard is… very far away. In the service.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And I don’t think it’s appropriate for a member of the crew to have this kind of conversation with a passenger, even if he is the Chief Radio Officer.”

The cold smile grew just a little wider, a little chillier. “My apologies, Mrs. Palmer. But if you will take some advice from a seasoned seaman, you should get back to your stateroom… and your husband. This break in the weather won’t last long. Do you need an escort?”

She drew back. “No, I can find my way.”

“Ah, one of those new independent women,” he said in a voice that didn’t quite sound approving.

“Perhaps. Good evening.” She turned away and headed back inside.

Ray’s voice came over her comm. “Are you all right, Sara?”

“Yeah,” she answered quietly, after making sure there was no one else in the passageway. “Had a little run-in with your prime suspect.”

“I heard.”

“He was carrying a box, Ray. I think he’s heading your way.”

* * *

She was fuming when she met him at the top of the companionway. “You were supposed to leave your comm on, Raymond!” she scolded him. Then she registered his haunted look.

“So, were you right?” she asked him in a softer tone.

“Kind of, but not exactly,” he said, flipping up his visor. “Rogers did plant a fountain pen bomb, just like all the theories said. But…” he trailed off and swallowed. 

Sara furrowed her brow. “But what?” she prompted.

“Now I know how the Time Masters were able to let things happen. It’s because history said they had to.” He took in a deep breath. “Rogers got the wiring wrong. His bomb wouldn’t have gone off.” He looked down, unable to meet her eyes. “And we know that bomb _had_ to go off. So… I fixed the wiring. The bomb’s exploded, and the fire has started. I turned off my comm because I needed quiet to think this through.”

He shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. “ _I’m_ the one who caused the _Morro Castle_ disaster.”

Her heart ached for this man who wanted nothing more than to help others. “Ray…”

“Hey!” They were interrupted by a shout from the bottom of the companionway, where a crewman was gaping at them. “What the _hell_ are you?”

Ray and Sara exchanged a look, the somber mood broken for the moment. “So much for the honey trap,” she said. 

“Guess we have to go for the vinegar,” he agreed. “Ladies first?”

She smirked at him, throwing off the dinner jacket and bounding down the stairs. She grabbed the railings about halfway down and swung her legs up to kick the crewman in the face, laying him out cold. She’d just landed in a swirl of her skirt when another crewman came running down the passageway. Ray took this one out with a literal flying punch.

They stood back to back in the passageway, the unconscious crewmen at their feet but no other opponents on the way. Then they ran down to the entry to the hold. No one blocked their path.

“One of those guys must have been the guard,” Sara said, trying the door. It was locked.

Ray aimed his gauntlet at the handle and fired. Sara could now pull the door open.

“You go place the shield,” he told her. “I’m gonna put those two guys into a lifeboat.”

“Ray…”

“There’s enough blood on my hands!” he snapped. “We’ll meet back at the stateroom.” He ran back down the passageway and grabbed the two men, then flew up the companionway out of sight.

Sara slipped into the dark hold and pulled her flashlight out of her bag. She could smell smoke wafting through the ventilation system. The _Morro Castle_ didn’t have much longer to live, but she had even less time to complete her mission. She flipped open the locket to the countdown timer, which showed two minutes left.

Leonard would have been able to find the spot instantly, but Sara wasn’t blessed with his eidetic memory. She pulled the floor plan sketch from the bag, looked at it and then looked around to orient herself.

Her objective was on the other side of the room, near the loading door. She picked her way through the stacks of crates, stopping once when her skirt caught on some splintered wood. The silk tore when she pulled it away.

One minute left, and still a little ways to go. She crossed the remaining distance quickly, and cursed when she realized the target spot between those riveted plates was well above her reach. But there were crates stacked right underneath, so she began to climb.

The silk skirt was getting in her way, getting caught on rough corners of the crates. The delicate fabric shredded as she kept yanking it away. “So much for keeping this,” she muttered.

The locket had started beeping. She was running out of time.

The target was now within reach. She pulled the chronium shield out of her bag and wedged it into place just as the beeping turned into a high-pitched whine. She glanced at the locket: Just in time.

She climbed down the crates again, and briefly considered the ones carrying the rum. She heard the echo of Leonard’s voice: _“There’s always time to steal,”_ and knew he’d have grabbed a few bottles and tucked them into the seemingly bottomless pockets of his parka. But she needed her hands free, so she turned her back on the crate and started heading for the door.

She paused at a groaning sound that did _not_ come from the ship. The walls reflected a strange blue light. She whirled to see something like a tornado appear in the hold. It glowed blue, but also had other colors running through it. No, not just colors. Images, flowing too quickly for her to recognize. And there was a cacophony of sound, mostly human voices.

She shrank away from the disturbance as it moved through the hold, heading straight for her chronium shield. The shield flared as the tornado touched it. Then the vision was gone, leaving no trace except for the now-glowing piece of chronium.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Ray, I just saw the Ridge. It was like some giant tornado.”

His voice crackled over the comm. “Did you see Snart?”

She started walking quickly, heading back to their room. “No. But I got an idea of what he might be seeing right now. There was a lot of noise, and images like a slideshow at a hundred miles an hour.”

“Did the shield work?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I think so. The tornado touched it and disappeared. Is that what I should have seen?”

Ray was quiet for a moment, probably thinking. “We weren’t sure how it would manifest, but that sounds right,” he answered at last. “The Waverider will be off the bow in a few minutes. Where are you?”

“Just about to take the stairs to our deck. I’ll be there in a minute.”

He didn’t bother to correct her with the nautical term. She climbed the stairs and found herself in a knot of panicked people, some wearing life jackets, many not, pushing toward the nearby doors that led to the outside deck. The smell of smoke was getting stronger, and she could hear panicked cries farther down the passageway.

Just for a moment, she flashed back to the _Gambit_. To the _Amazo_. But then she heard the voice of Ra’s al Ghul reprimanding her: _“The past cannot hurt you or kill you. It can only distract you. Distraction is what kills.”_

She shoved down the memories and started to push against the tide. A steward shouted at her, “Miss, you have to go out on deck!”

She ignored him, continuing to force her way through the crowd until she was free of it. She kicked off her heels to run down the passageway to their room.

“It’s a madhouse out there!” she said as she pulled the door shut behind her.

“And it’s my fault,” Ray said. His visor was up, and he was still wearing that haunted look.

He had gathered all her careful notes from her trunk. He carried them to the bathtub, dropping them in and setting them ablaze with a blast from his gauntlet. He looked at her. “We can’t leave any traces of what we did. Of what _I_ did.” He turned back to staring at the small fire.

“Ray.” He wouldn’t look at her. “Raymond!” She laid a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to look her way. “Rip is always telling us time _wants_ to happen. Even without the Time Masters, I think that’s still true. We knew this ship would be wrecked even before we came on board.”

He shook his head. “Yeah. But seeing it and knowing that I…”

“You did what you had to, Ray. We’re supposed to be taking care of history now, and that’s what you did,” she reassured him. “You have to remember that.”

Ray thought it over for a moment, then gave her a resigned nod. “Thanks, Sara,” he said, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

The room went dark, and something on his suit began beeping. “What’s that?”

He smiled slightly. “I built a Waverider beacon for the suit.” He flipped his visor back down and blasted out the triple windows of their stateroom, giving them an escape route. “You ready to get off this boat?”

She grinned and stepped closer so he could grab hold of her. He flew them out into the night, towards the bow of the burning ship. She looked down, but thankfully couldn’t see much detail because of the smoke, the darkness and their increasing altitude.

She could still hear, though, and what she heard would probably give her nightmares again tonight. 

She looked away from the _Morro Castle_ and peered in the direction they were flying. “I can’t see the Waverider,” she shouted to Ray. “Are you sure it’s there?”

As if in answer, a small patch of light appeared ahead of them. Rip had kept the ship camouflaged. The patch was an open airlock. Ray headed for it, and in moments they were back on the Waverider.

“Welcome back,” Gideon greeted them.

“Did it work?” Ray asked the AI.

Rip answered, coming down the corridor toward them. “Apparently so. Gideon says the Ridge has course-corrected.”

“Rip, I saw it,” Sara said. “I saw Jurgen’s Ridge. It looked like some kind of storm or tornado. How can Leonard survive that?”

Rip took in a deep breath and laid a hand on her shoulder. “The Ridge manifests differently in our world than it does in the time stream,” he said. “You already know he does survive.”

They heard the sound of the jump ship docking. “Ah, there’s our other team!” Rip said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s see how they’re doing.”

They quickly made their way to the jump ship hatch. Stein and Jax were already out.

“Gentlemen! Gideon says the first phase of our plan has succeeded!” Rip told them. Then he furrowed his brow. “Where is Mr. Rory?”

“Right here, Rip.”

Sara gasped in surprise as Mick emerged from the jump ship. He was cradling a sleeping, dark-haired girl, who couldn’t have been more than two or three years old.

Rip’s face turned red. “You brought…” he began to shout, then lowered his voice at Mick’s glare. “You brought a _child_ back from Lewiston? What were you thinking?”

“We were following orders,” Jax said.

“ _Whose_ orders?” Rip’s voice had now dropped to a hiss of anger.

Martin looked at the others uncomfortably before answering, “Gideon’s.”

A shocked expression crossed Rip’s face before he looked up to address the AI. “Gideon, do you mind explaining? Why did you have them take a child out of the timeline?”

Gideon almost sounded… patient. “History demanded that this child be taken out of her timeline. She must be brought to the Refuge.”

“Why?” Sara asked. “Who is she?”

“It is not who she is, but rather who she will be that makes her important.”

While Gideon sounded patient, Rip’s tone was the exact opposite. “And who _will_ she be?” he demanded.

“She will become the Time Master trainee Miranda Coburn.”

There was stunned silence. Then Ray said, “So this little girl…”

“…is my future wife,” Rip finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information about the Morro Castle comes from Wikipedia and also the 1972 book "Shipwreck" by Gordon Thomas and Max Morgan Witts.
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments. (Looking at you with big brown eyes.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quest to save Snart leads some of the Legends to a historic battleground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to Jael, not only for the beta but for giving me the background on Lewiston in the first place. It's a setting I'd never have thought of on my own, and it was fun to work with.

**_Temporal Zone_ **

Rip could see traces of his future wife in the little girl now sleeping in one of the Medbay beds. Especially in the Cupid’s-bow mouth and the slightly snub nose.

Her given name turned out to be Miranda after all. “Coburn” was the only part of her identity assigned by the Time Masters.

She was in an artificial sleep, kept sedated by Gideon per Time Master protocols. Even if the organization was no longer a going concern, at least some of its ideas were good ones. Such as not terrorizing the small orphan children it picked up throughout history by exposing them to strange future technology.

It was the same principle that had guided the design of the Refuge. The Time Masters could have built it out of steel and concrete, which were both durable and functional, rather than making it a Tudor-style home surrounded by green grass and flowers.

At one point, the Time Masters did have hearts. Rip sometimes wondered what it had taken to change that.

The blue I.V. in Miranda’s arm was doing more than administering a sedative. Her immune system was getting boosted to protect her from any futuristic (for her) viruses or bacteria that might be carried by the Waverider team or by other children at the Refuge. Gideon was also pumping her with vitamins and trace minerals that had been missing from her diet. Miranda had been slightly malnourished, not unlike the other foundlings adopted by the Time Masters.

Not unlike himself, in that respect, although he had been much closer to starving to death. He remembered that all too well: Where he came from, and what his life had been like before the Refuge.

His wife had not remembered those things. It was one of the things that had initially intrigued him about her. It gave her an air of mystery he’d found irresistible. That and her clever mind and those sharp hazel eyes that could twinkle with mischief one moment and glow with love the next.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Now was not the time for that kind of memory. It would just take him down the rabbit hole of “what-if” and eventually lead him to staring at that bloody holographic message again. He didn’t have time for that.

But he now understood why Miranda had never been able to remember her past. Gideon put the girl’s chronological age at about two and a half years, far too young to remember her origins. And for that, he felt some relief as he considered the mission debrief with the Lewiston team.

* * *

 

**_Lewiston, New York – December 18, 1813_ **

Jefferson was… fiddling… with his clothes again. Granted, the clothing of this period wasn’t exactly comfortable. But the continual… tugging at the fabric would be out of character for their assumed identities as a pair of Harvard University scholars studying the Indian nations of the Great Lakes region. It could draw attention.

And it was driving Stein up the tavern wall.

He nudged his partner, and shook his head, trying his best to send a message of _“stop that”_ through their psychic link. Jefferson scowled at him and shifted in his seat, stopping the fiddling.

For a moment, anyway. It didn’t take long before he was tugging again. Stein let out a sigh and decided to leave it alone.

Truth be told, Jefferson was attracting attention anyway. The state of New York was still pulling away from slavery, and free black men apparently weren’t seen very often in these parts, being more likely to congregate in urban centers such as New York City. But unlike their experience in the Harmony Falls of 1958, the stares they got were those of curiosity rather than bigotry. The tavern keeper’s wife was equally courteous to both men as she set two steaming bowls of stew and a plate of johnnycake down on their corner table.

Her courtesy didn’t cover her nervous expression, however. After thanking her for the stew, Stein asked her, “What is troubling you, Mrs. Hustler?”

She sighed. “We received a letter today from our son, who’s been serving under General McClure up at Fort George. He said they abandoned the Fort and crossed the river over to Fort Niagara.”

Stein reached out to lay a hand on her arm. “It cannot be easy to have a child in the line of fire.”

She gave him a slight smile. “We are proud of him serving. But what troubles me tonight is the rest of what he wrote. McClure’s men burned the town of Newark, to keep the British from taking shelter in civilian homes. The people there have lost everything. I fear there will be a great reckoning from that.” She sighed, and then nodded to the two men. “Enjoy your stew before it gets cold.”

She walked away, and Jefferson began to poke at the stew in his bowl. “Did she say what’s in this?” he asked.

Stein picked up his own pewter spoon, scooped up some of the stew and tasted it. After a moment of thought, he answered, “I would say turnips, onions, carrots and parsnips for the most part. The meat... hmmm. It could be venison.”

Jefferson smiled and took a mouthful.

“But considering the time of year, the dwindling vegetation for deer to eat and the depth of the snow outside, it could also be squirrel.”

The boy’s eyes bugged, and he began to choke. Stein reached over to pat him on the back. “Easy there, Jefferson. It _is_ venison; I recognize the flavor.”

He felt the disbelief down their link, along with just a little pride that he had been able to keep his partner from sensing the joke ahead of time. “Did you just prank me, Gray?” Jefferson asked after swallowing his mouthful.

“Just trying to lighten your mood a bit,” Stein replied. Then in a lower tone he said, “You’ve been looking around so mournfully that you might raise suspicions.”

Jefferson stared down into his stew. “Can’t help it, Gray,” he said, his voice just as low. “Knowing what’s going to happen here and knowing we can’t do anything about it… I don’t like it.”

They both looked around the tavern’s common room. Normally it would be filled with men, smoking pipes and drinking gin “cocktails” like the ones Mrs. Hustler had so proudly served to the “scholars” when they first came in, seeking shelter for the night.

But most of Lewiston’s able-bodied men were now serving in the militia. Tonight women and children took the tables, with a few old men amongst them. They were gathered for comfort, not camaraderie. Apparently word of Newark’s fate had spread.

They, and Mrs. Hustler, had good reason to fear. In just a few hours, the town would be burned and citizens killed in retribution for Newark.

“The demands of history are beyond our likes and dislikes, Jefferson,” Stein said at last. “I imagine this wait is just as difficult for Dr. Palmer and Ms. Lance. Probably more so, since they are having to spend even more time at their target than we are here.” The advantage of not having to get aboard a cruise ship.

Jefferson nodded as he swallowed another mouthful of stew. “Yeah. They’ve got more chances to get involved.”

“We must act like scholars, and remain detached,” Stein said. He started at a light touch on his elbow, and looked down into a pair of hazel eyes. It was a tiny, dark-haired girl who gazed up at him while sucking on two less-than-clean fingers. She couldn’t have been more than two. Maybe three? Stein had too little experience with children to be certain.

But she was adorable.

“Well, hello,” he said in a kind voice. She kept staring at him. “Would you like a piece of this?” he asked, breaking off a piece of the johnnycake and offering it to her. She pulled her fingers out of her mouth to take it, biting into the cornbread and chewing solemnly, still staring at him. 

One of the women across the room broke off her conversation and hustled across to them. “Miranda, do not disturb the scholars!” she scolded the child, sweeping her up into her arms. She looked at Stein apologetically. “I am sorry if she bothered you, sir. You resemble her grandfather, who died last month.”

Stein smiled back at her. “She did not bother us at all, good woman. And I would be proud to have a granddaughter like her.”

The woman bobbed a curtsy to them. “Good evening to you both.”

Jefferson was grinning when Stein turned his attention back to him. “Detached, huh?”

* * *

 

He really should have listened to Gray about that “cocktail.” He’d said alcohol of this era would be much stronger than anything he’d ever tried in 2016, and the old man was right.

Again.

When Gray woke him before dawn to finally carry out their mission, Jax’s head was pounding and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. He was torn between thinking he should have eaten more of the stew and being glad he didn’t. Their countdown clock was ticking, and he really didn’t have time for puking his guts out.

“Here, Jefferson.” Gray lit the small lamp in their room and offered him a mug of water and a small white pill. “A little something from Gideon’s pharmacy.”

Jax took the pill and chased it down with the water. “Thanks, Gray.” He blinked in surprise as the pounding vanished within seconds. “Wow, that’s good stuff! How’d you know to bring it with you?”

His partner smiled. “I decided it was wise as soon as I saw where we’d need to place our chronium. According to the historical literature about Lewiston, Hustler’s Tavern is the birthplace of the so-called ‘cocktail,’ although Mrs. Hustler’s concoction bears little resemblance to anything you might drink in the 21st century.”

Jax rubbed his hands over his face. “Man, you’re not kidding. No wonder life expectancies were so short in this century.”  
  
“I think it’s more likely you can attribute that to poor medical care and sanitation than to the available alcohol,” Gray said drily. He checked his pocket watch. “We have fifteen minutes. Are you feeling more like yourself?”

Jax nodded and began to pull on his clothes. “I’ll be glad to get back into 21st century threads. This stuff itches.”

“Keep your mind on the mission, Jefferson, and you won’t notice the itch,” Gray said, handing him the plate of chronium.

Quietly, they stepped out of the third-floor room they’d been given for the night. Gray went first, carrying the lamp to light their way to the front staircase, which would take them back down to the common room. Jax winced as one of the stairs creaked under his weight.

Then he nearly crashed into Gray when the old man froze at the bottom of the staircase. He could feel surprise through their link, and tucked the chronium into his waistcoat as he peered over his partner’s shoulder

Mrs. Hustler was at the fireplace, staring at them in equal surprise. “Gentlemen, I did not realize scholars were such early risers,” she greeted them. “I might almost think you were trying to avoid your bill, if you had not already paid in advance.”

“Mrs. Hustler, we did not think we would be disturbing anyone,” Gray said smoothly, stepping off the stairs to the middle of the room. “My colleague and I are stepping outside for a short while to observe the Ursid meteor showers, which are peaking just before sunrise.”

She looked at them strangely. “I thought you were here to study the Indians.”

“Uh, yes, we are,” Gray reassured her. “But we never miss an opportunity to learn about other subjects as well.”

“A mind is a terrible thing to waste,” Jax chimed in. He shrugged a little when Gray shot him a _look._

Mrs. Hustler shrugged. “If you want to freeze your toes off, I suppose that is your business. Breakfast porridge will be ready in about an hour.”

They both nodded to her and grabbed their greatcoats from the hooks near the door. Once outside, they rounded the corner of the building, away from the windows of the common room.

“Our time is running short, Jefferson,” Gray said. He dug into his coat pocket to pull out a diagram printed before they left the Waverider. “According to this, we have to place the chronium up there,” he pointed, “in the stones of the common room chimney, at the second-floor level.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just fly the chronium up there?” Jax asked.

Gray shook his head. “We’ve been over this, Jefferson. The transmutation powers of Firestorm could render the chronium useless. This has to be done the hard way.”

Jax nodded in resignation. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s not too different from climbing the rock wall at the Fun Zone. Except there’s no safety harness. And a lot less light. But if blind people can climb Mount Everest, I guess I can do this.”

He put his hands and one foot on the chimney to start climbing. “Stand back, Gray. If I fall, I don’t want you under me.”

The old man gave him a nod and stepped back as Jax began to climb, hands searching for good holds, feet carefully wedging into slots as he went up. At least none of the stones were loose.

He almost lost his grip when his own pocket watch began beeping at him. “Gray, we’re running out of time!” he called. “Am I high enough? I can’t tell!”

“Another two feet, Jefferson!”

Two feet more. His arms and legs were starting to feel the strain of the climb. He pushed that aside; he’d run across a Soviet prison yard on his bad knee to save Gray, for Pete’s sake. He could put up with a little muscle strain for Snart.

And for Sara. And Mick.

With a groan he pulled himself up one more time.

“That’s it, Jefferson!”

Keeping a death grip on the stones with one hand, Jax reached into his waistcoat and pulled out the chronium plate. He wedged it between some of the chimney stones just as the watch’s beeping turned into a whine. Once he was satisfied it was secure, he began to climb back down.

He was shaking by the time he was on solid ground again. Gray clapped him on the back. “Well done, Jefferson!”

They whirled at the sound of screaming in the distance. They could see a glow of flames down the road from the tavern. “The British are coming?” Jax asked.

“And the Mohawks,” Gray agreed. “I think it is time we made our exit, stage… thataway.” He pointed into the darkness, where Mick was supposed to meet them shortly with the jump ship.

Jax nodded and held his right hand out. Gray clapped his own into it, and Jax felt that familiar surge as they merged into Firestorm. They had barely taken flight away from the tavern when a different sound filled the air. It wasn’t the sound of panicked people or of something burning. Or rather, it wasn’t _just_ those sounds. Those things were overridden by a groaning, like some great piece of metal bending.

They turned to see a glowing blue vortex, spiked through with other colors. It moved toward Hustler’s Tavern. There was a glare of brightness as it reached the building, and then the vortex was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Gray,” Jax murmured, “what the _hell_ was that?”

He knew the answer even before Gray “spoke” it in his mind. “Jefferson, I believe we have just seen the manifestation of Jurgen’s Ridge in our world. And I believe we have just seen the first phase of our plan succeed.”

“Oh, man, I hope you’re right. That thing looked freaking scary.” He looked back toward the town, where more buildings were in flames. He could see people running down the main road.

“And _that_ is truly terrifying,” Gray said. “Jefferson, we cannot do anything more here. We need to get to our rendezvous point. Mr. Rory should be waiting by the time we get there.”

Jax sighed. “I know, Gray.” He turned away from the slaughter and flew into the darkness.

The jump ship was waiting for them, just like Gray said it would be. Mick was outside, Heat Gun in hand. When they landed and separated, he said, “We’ve got to go back.”

_What the hell?_ “Mick, are you crazy?”

At the same time, Gray was saying, “Mr. Rory, we completed our mission. We have to get back to the Waverider.”

Mick began walking toward the burning town. “Gideon gave us one more mission. We have to save a kid.”

Jax glanced over at Gray, who asked, “Won’t that interfere with the timeline?”

Mick turned back to them. “Gideon says it’ll mess with the timeline a lot more if we leave her here. Now, I can do this alone, but it’ll be a lot faster if you two have my back.” He resumed his stride across the snow. “You comin’ or not?”

Another look exchanged, and both halves of Firestorm nodded, following Mick across the snowy field toward the town. It looked like more than half of it was on fire now.

“This must be quite the show for you,” Gray said to Mick.

The big man growled. “The British are idiots. Fire has to be respected. You don’t just burn for the hell of it.” He paused, and then continued, “You loot first. _Then_ you burn. These idiots have it backwards.”  
  
Jax could _feel_ Gray rolling his eyes. “Just when we thought you were reformed, Mr. Rory…”

Mick huffed out a laugh. “Professor, I ain’t here to loot.”

“No, just to kidnap a child!” Gray replied.

“You can argue with Gideon later!” Mick was growling again.

Jax broke into the bickering. “Do you know where to find this kid, Mick?”

“Gideon told me…” Mick halted. “Now what the hell is that?”

Just as they reached the town’s main road, new cries rose up. This wasn’t the sound of fear; these were battle cries. They could see a group of men sweeping down a hillside into the town, attacking the British soldiers and Mohawks who had been ravaging Lewiston.

“Those must be the Tuscarora Indians!” Jax said excitedly. “Gideon’s history records say these are the guys who came in and saved the day!”

Mick’s eyes narrowed as he watched the greatly outnumbered fighters. “Yeah? The save’s gonna turn into a slaughter. Look.”

The element of surprise was only good for so long, it seemed. Several of the Tuscarora fighters were already on the ground, and the raiders were rallying back.

“That don’t look like saving the day to me,” Mick said, powering up the Heat Gun. “Come on. Looks like we’ve gotta go fix history.” 

Jax turned to Gray with a shrug and held out his hand. They re-merged and launched into the sky.

* * *

History would later record that the “Tuscarora Heroes” used “ingenious and diversionary tactics” that led the British to believe their “numbers were legion,” buying enough time for many Lewiston residents to escape the ruin of their town.

History did _not_ record the “burning man” who laid down barriers of fire between the raiders and the townsfolk. It also did not record the huge warrior, armed with a flame-throwing weapon, striding through the invaders and burning those in his way, particularly one Mohawk who had just taken a woman’s scalp.

History also did not record how that warrior holstered his weapon and gently picked up the child the woman had been shielding. There was no record of the little dark-haired girl staring at her mother’s body and then passing out in the warrior’s arms.

History recorded none of those things because none of it would ever be believed. Skepticism and disbelief would always work to erase anachronisms from the books.

So there was no record save the memories of Mick Rory, Jefferson Jackson and Martin Stein, who, despite having helped to “save the day” for the people of Lewiston, still looked as haunted as Ray Palmer by what they had seen.

“The bastards were killing kids. Kids are off-limits,” Mr. Rory had rumbled before stalking off to raid Rip’s alcohol stash.

For once, Rip was not going to complain about the man stealing his liquor. If he didn’t need to keep his own head clear, he’d even join him.

At the moment, Sara seemed to be the only member of Rip’s crew who was not emotionally shell-shocked by this mission. Having a goal, having _hope_ of retrieving Mr. Snart, seemed to bolster her inherent strength. But Rip wasn’t sure that would last with this side trip they now had to make.

“Captain, we have arrived at the Refuge.” 

Rip gently stroked Miranda’s hair. “We’re home, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, no Len in this chapter either. Stay tuned!
> 
> I also want to note that Hustler's Tavern is one of the few buildings that actually survived the burning of Lewiston. Mrs. Hustler's cocktails may have had something to do with it!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len learns something disturbing about Mick's past, and the Waverider team visits the Refuge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Non-graphic portrayals of violence and child sexual abuse.
> 
> AUTHOR’S NOTE: After a two-chapter absence, we return to Leonard on the Ridge. But let me be up front. This chapter was tough to write and will be a difficult read for all of us who love our Rogues. And for those who love Len & Sara, you’ll want tissues. At least, I needed them while writing it.
> 
> We know why Leonard Snart is broken. But there hasn’t been much exploration of what made Mick Rory the man he is, beyond a slight mention in “The Last Refuge.” I wanted to explore his character a little more deeply. This chapter is a rather extreme possibility, but psychological research into the causes of pyromania show it is a distinct (and ugly) one. I have tried to be somewhat delicate with this portrayal of the worst way a parent can betray a child short of murder.
> 
> There are additional notes and credits at the end of the chapter.

* * *

His demand to see Mick brought up an angry red thread. That didn’t surprise him. The name _Mick_ seemed mostly to conjure up thoughts of anger and violence.

Flames and fists.

There were other feelings, other sensations mixed in, too. A sense of celebration and… _satisfaction_ … over jobs well done, or over a victory in a… bar fight?

The taste of cold beer and smooth scotch.

(And that brought up a question… how long had he been here without any food or drink? Not that he felt like he needed it right now, but what if he did?)

A whimper interrupted that train of thought. It was a child’s whimper, followed by the low murmur of a man’s voice.

_“Daddy, no…”_

Unlike the previous visions, he could hear more than he could see. The image he saw was one of darkness moving against darkness. But what he heard…

A creaking sound.

More childish whimpers, until they were muffled.

That male voice grunting, softly at first but getting faster and more ragged before ending with a curse.

Leonard closed his eyes tightly, feeling bile rise up in his throat. His fragmented memories had coalesced enough for him to remember Mick telling him some things about his father, who’d seemed to be cut from the same cloth as Leonard’s own. Abusive and angry, but without the prison record.

But Mick had never, _never_ told him about this. Even without a full set of memories, Leonard felt certain of that. Mick was his _partner_ , and he thought he’d known everything there was to know about him.

Apparently he was wrong. He’d never known just how deeply Mick had been betrayed by his own father.

The sounds around him changed. No more whimpers or grunts; instead he could hear the crisp, flaring sound of a match being struck. He cracked one eye open.

The darkness from before was now cut by the light of a single flame. The match he’d heard was held by a boy who stared at it, letting it burn down to the tips of his fingers before throwing it on the ground. The boy lit another match, and another.

Leonard opened both eyes now to see the boy change as each new match was lit, growing older, his face becoming less soft.

Flames rose up, blotting the image out and blinding Leonard for a moment. He blinked, and when his vision cleared, he saw the boy standing on a patch of weedy grass.

No, not just a boy now. A man. Well, almost. The height of a man, but without the muscle Leonard remembered. This version of Mick wasn’t quite finished yet.

A knot of boys was struggling on the ground in front of Mick. Leonard knew this scene, but it was quite different to see it from outside the dogpile instead of from the bottom of it. He knew that somewhere in that knot was a boy with a shiv, and under that boy was a scared fourteen-year-old who tried to cover his fear with a too-smart mouth.

What he hadn’t known, what Mick had never told him, was that the largest of the boys had gotten off the pile, smiling viciously as he unbuttoned his jeans. Before he could get to the zipper, though, Mick had stepped forward and grabbed the kid by the arm.

_“Leave him alone.”_

Even unfinished, this Mick’s voice had a rumble to it that promised pain to anyone who didn’t comply. And he was taller than his opponent, who just smirked and re-buttoned his jeans before kicking the kids at the top of the dogpile.

_“We’re out of here,”_ the boy told his posse. One by one they rose, following their leader across the Juvie yard. The kid with the shiv was the last up, and delivered one more vicious kick to the bleeding boy still on the ground.

Leonard swallowed, hard. “I know the rest of this story,” he said. “Show me something else I don’t know.”

Flames again, and the scene changed. Mick was bound to a chair, jerking in pain as lights flashed around him. An unseen speaker kept demanding his name.

Finally Mick answered, _“Chronos.”_

Leonard winced and shook his head at the sense of wrongness the name gave him. He knew the Time Bastards had done this, given Mick a new name, put him into strange armor and given him a new gun, different from the Heat Gun that was so tied with Mick in Leonard’s damaged memory.

They had broken Mick down and rebuilt him into something monstrous.

But Leonard also knew it had happened because he had betrayed his own partner.

He watched as Mick… no, _Chronos,_ learned to fire his new weapon and to pilot his own ship through space and time. He watched Chronos chase down time pirates and those who’d refused to kowtow to the Time Bastards.

Flames once again, and Leonard saw himself, manacled inside Chronos’ ship, struggling to get free until the helmeted bounty hunter strode on board, dragging a struggling woman by her hair.

_Lisa._

She cried out in pain when he hurled her to the deck, and then froze in shock when Chronos removed his helmet to reveal a feral grin.

_“Mick?”_

Chronos raised his weapon. 

The image of Leonard and the real one both screamed as Lisa fell under a burst of green.

* * *

Mick and Rip led the way off the Waverider, Mick carrying the still-sedated young Miranda. The rest of the team followed in a loose knot. Sara took a deep breath of the springtime air.

“Astonishing,” Stein said. “It seems as if the Refuge hasn’t changed a bit since we were here last.”

Rip blew out a sigh. “That’s because it hasn’t been that long since you left,” he said.

Sara furrowed her brow. “How long, Rip?”

She’d barely asked the question when she heard singing from an open upstairs window.

She knew the voice.

She knew the words.

Tears rose up in her eyes as she stared at Rip, who sighed again and nodded toward the house.

Sara ran toward the door, blowing past Rip’s mother, who had just come outside. Sara barreled through the doorway and raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, following the singing to an open doorway.

 

_“God bless mommy and Matchbox cars_

_God bless dad and thanks for the stars_

_God hears ‘amen’ wherever we are_

_And I…”_

 

Sara’s younger self stared at her from the rocking chair where she’d been singing to a baby swaddled in black. The elder Sara covered her mouth and closed her eyes, willing the tears to go away.

“He was fussing,” young Sara said. “He likes it when I sing to him.”

Sara took a deep breath, then another before nodding. She startled at a gentle hand laid on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and turned slightly, to see Rip’s mother standing behind her.

The older woman smiled kindly at her, then looked over to the younger Sara. “You’ve done very well with him, dear. But why don’t you go look for Mick now? Make sure he hasn’t burnt anything he’s not supposed to?”

She stepped around Sara and took the baby from the girl. Young Sara rose from the rocker and looked curiously at her older self before leaving the room.

Sara waited until she heard the girl’s footsteps fade away before speaking. “I thought Rip returned our younger selves to the timeline.”

Rip’s mother smiled and nodded at her. “He will, dear. He just hasn’t done it yet.” She shook her head wryly. “Time travel can make such a muddle of things. Suffice it to say that Michael’s current self had to bring his future wife here first, before his younger self can return you all. _Your_ younger self, and his…” she nodded down at the baby, “…will soon be back where you belong.”

Sara shook her own head. “How do you keep from getting confused?”

The older woman’s smile grew broader. “I am Mary Xavier, my dear, and what I am goes beyond the Time Masters.” She leaned toward Sara conspiratorially. “A mother always has to stay a few steps ahead of her children.”

Sara snorted. “From what I know about Rip and Mick, you’d have to be something else to handle their younger selves.”

Mary chuckled. “Your younger self isn’t exactly a picnic, either, young woman. In fact, I keep wanting to slap her spoiled little face.”

Sara had to laugh at that too. “I _was_ a brat at that age.”

“And you’d still be a brat at _this_ age if not for the _Queen’s Gambit_ and all that followed it,” Mary said. “Remember that the next time you have one of those nightmares.”

Sara stared at her. “How did you know about…?”

“I told you, dear. I’m Mary Xavier. I know these things.” The baby in her arms began to fuss, and Mary brought him over to the changing table across the room. As she unswaddled him and began to change his diaper, she continued, “I told Michael before that I knew he was ready for great things. That’s true for you as well, Sara. Great things… and great joy. You won’t live with a broken heart forever.”

Sara considered that for a moment, and also considered the visit from Leonard’s future self, now so long ago that it seemed like a dream. Finally she asked, “Mary, are you ever wrong about these things?”

The older woman’s hands stilled for just a moment in reswaddling baby Leonard. Then she said, “No. But there have been times when I wished I was. Druce, Declan… Jurgen. I wanted to be wrong about all of them. But… time _wants_ to happen.”

She quickly finished the swaddle and scooped Leonard back up, turning back to Sara. “Now, what I think this little one still needs is someone who loves him.”

Her blue eyes held Sara’s as she held the small bundle out. Sara felt a lump rising in her throat as she took the baby. Mary gently guided her over to the rocker. “He likes to be sung to sleep,” she said.

As Sara sat down, Mary gently ran a hand over her hair in a motherly gesture, then stroked the baby’s cheek just once. She gave Sara one more smile before walking out of the room.

Sara looked down at baby Leonard. He was staring up at her with big eyes that were just a bit more pure blue than they would be when he was an adult. No green had appeared in them yet.

_“Poor kid. He’s gonna have a rough life ahead of him.”_ Sara remembered Kendra’s words in that Central City hospital, and wondered: Did he ever get any moments of love in his young life? There must have been something, she thought, to make him into a man who would care so deeply for his sister, who would agonize so much over Mick.

Who would, in some future Sara hadn’t lived yet, look at her as if she were his whole world.

So yes, there must have been some love in his life, before it got darkened by crime and violence. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t offer this sweet, innocent child some love and light of her own. He would never remember it, but she would.

That thought eased the sting of what she’d never said to him before.

She cuddled him closer and began to sing. 

_“_ _Dragon tales and the Water is Wide_ __  
Pirates sail and lost boys fly  
Fish bite moonbeams every night  
And I love you...

_God speed, little man_

_Sweet dreams, little man_

_My love will fly to you each night on angel’s wings…”_

* * *

Mick laid his head back against the wall when he heard Sara’s voice break. Perhaps Rip’s mother kept some good liquor around. The Waverider’s supply was low, and Blondie would probably need it tonight.

Across the parlor, Jax let out a ragged sigh, and the professor set down his teacup. “Four more stops,” Stein said. “And they promise to be as… emotionally trying as the first two.”

“I hope you’re wrong about that,” Haircut muttered. “One mass murder per lifetime is more than enough for me.”

“And I could go forever without seeing anybody get scalped ever again,” Jax said darkly.

Rip stared into his own teacup. He had been mostly silent after settling Miranda into the girls’ dormitory, and explaining the timing of their arrival to the team.

“You did what was necessary,” said the sharp voice of Rip’s mother. She was standing in the doorway. “And I thought Michael was a wallower! Hasn’t he told you already? _Time wants to happen_. The things you saw would have happened anyway, _whether or not you were there_.”

“Not the ship,” Ray protested. “I fixed the bomb.”

The woman strode up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, you fixed it. But if you hadn’t, that man who made it would eventually have gone back and fixed it himself. The ship would still have burned, but it would have done so in a place where it would have been even less likely to get help, and more would have died.”

Ray’s jaw dropped in shock. “So I actually saved lives by what I did?”

“Indeed,” she said with a smile. She turned to Jax and Stein. “And as for you… I think you both already know that the raid you saw would have been even deadlier had you and Mr. Rory not intervened.”

“Told you we were fixing history,” Mick said.

“And the job’s not done.” Sara was now standing in the doorway. Her eyes were dry, and somehow her face seemed less haunted than it had before. 

Rip stood and looked at her carefully. “Sara, are you all right?”

She drew in a breath and nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.” She looked over at Rip’s mother. “He’s asleep. Thank you for letting me…”

“Of course, my dear.”

Sara’s gaze shifted over to Mick. “Do you want to go see him before we leave?”

Mick stood with a slight smile and shook his head. “Nah. I’d rather get back to finding the grown-up model.”

Sara smiled back at him and nodded.

Perhaps they didn’t need more liquor after all.

* * *

Leonard spat one more time, trying to get the taste of bile and vomit out of his mouth. He pushed himself up from his hands and knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before rising on unsteady legs. He took a few shaky steps up the hill before turning back around and glaring at the strange river of images.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to sell me here,” he snapped. “But when I asked you before to show me Lisa _now_ , she was alive. And then you show me… _that_? Either you’re lying to me…”

He stopped, thinking. Then, in a softer voice, “Or you’re showing me things that could have happened. Am I right?”

The images continued to flicker by. He huffed out a soft laugh. “Don’t know why I think anyone’s gonna answer me. But if anybody _is_ listening, I don’t suppose you could, I don’t know, give me a warning maybe?’

The images continued to flicker by. “Didn’t think so.”

Still, he had learned some things, about himself and the people he’d apparently been closest to. There was one more name he needed to learn more about. Once again, he kicked away sharp stones to give himself a clear space to sit. 

“What about Sara?”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sara’s lullaby is “Godspeed (Sweet Dreams),” written by Radney M. Foster and performed by the Dixie Chicks.
> 
> FreyReh did a lovely story of her own featuring Sara and baby!Leonard, and that was very much on my mind as I wrote this. I think we both needed Sara to have this moment, in our own ways.
> 
> Thanks as always to Jael for the beta on this. It was an especially tough one for both of us. (And as a balm, I'm also posting some fluff tonight.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That should have been it for Mick Rory, ironically killed in a fire he didn't even start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to note in advance that I am once again taking liberties with an event that may be more familiar to midwesterners than it was to me.

 

**_Chicago, December 30, 1903, 3:15 P.M._**  

Mick cursed as he looked at his escape route: A wooden plank stretched out like a makeshift catwalk, three stories above an alley. Two women had already climbed out of the window before him and were crawling across the plank to the building at the other end.

He cursed again as he looked back the way he’d come. He couldn’t see a damned thing. There was too much smoke now. The fire had spread quickly.

And with his comm out, he didn’t know where Haircut was.

“Snart was right,” he growled. “This is what happens when you go with Plan B.”

* * *

**_Three Hours Earlier_ **

Haircut was babbling _again_. Mick didn’t know what he was babbling about; he’d already found that it was easier to tune the man out and just grunt or nod whenever he paused for air. 

If Haircut knew that, he’d probably give Mick one of his wounded-puppy looks and go off on another babble. Most likely about Mick’s lack of social skills.

But Mick didn’t need to be sociable to do this job. In about three hours, they would plant another chronium shield on a catwalk above the stage of the Iroquois Theatre. They’d gotten themselves hired as stagehands in charge of raising and lowering the painted scenery flats hanging above the stage. It was a perfect set-up, putting them right where they’d need to leave their chronium…

Just before the place went up in flames, thanks to a sparking arc lamp and a cheap muslin curtain.

Haircut wasn’t happy to visit the site of another deadly fire. Even though Rip’s mother told him that what he did on the _Morro Castle_ saved lives, he was still worried about being part of a mass murder.

But if there was any murder in the Iroquois fire, it was done by the theatre’s designer, who’d covered the emergency exits with flammable draperies and equipped them with complicated locks that the ushers still hadn’t figured out. There were vents up above the stage, but those were fastened shut. And the scenery flats brought in from the show’s original run in London? All canvas and plywood. Perfect fuel.

The theatre was nothing more than a giant tinderbox. Or maybe a barbecue, if he wanted to be crude about it.

This afternoon’s matinee was a sold-out show, even in the standing sections. An audience of 1,900 people, a cast of 250 and another 250 in the crew added up to a lot of people who’d be trying to figure a way out of the burning building.

Fire plus crowds plus panic… a recipe for disaster, and another perfect magnet for Jurgen’s Ridge.

This particular disaster was well documented, so they were able to plan their drop and their escape right down to the second. They’d leave the shield in place a few minutes into the second act, take the ladder down to the ground level just as the fire was starting, and escape through the theatre’s rear door, like most of the cast and crew. Fifteen minutes later, they’d meet Jax in the jump ship at Grant Park.

Simple.

Mick thought Snart might just be proud of his attention to detail in this job.

But then there was a complication.

Mick should’ve seen that coming.

* * *

“You! You’re on today. Get to wardrobe!” 

Ray stopped and stared at the short, florid man who had stormed up to him and Mick. The man barked again, “I’m talking to you! Understudy!”

“I’m not an understudy!” Ray protested, belatedly recognizing the man as the show’s director, and realizing the man was barking at _him._ “I’m on the fly crew.”

“Good-lookin’ fella like you is a crew grunt?" the director responded in surprise. "Well, you’re an understudy now! I lost one of my men for the _‘Pale Moonlight’_ number and you’re the right size for the costume, so get to wardrobe. Then you can get the sheet music from the music director and learn the part.” The director then glared at Mick, who had an amused grin on his face. “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”

“On my way, boss,” Mick replied mildly, striding off toward the stairway that would take him up to the fly gallery. _“Break a leg, Haircut,”_ Ray heard him say over the comms.

The director was right: The costume fit. At least it wasn’t anything ridiculous; just a simple white suit. Unfortunately it didn’t have any pockets for the ATOM suit. Ray left the case in his street clothes.

It would mean an extra complication during their escape.

“Leave the watch too,” the costume master told him. Ray hesitated.

_“It’s okay, Haircut,”_ Mick told him over the comms. _“I’ve got mine. Just make sure you leave your stuff where you can get it back. Don’t want Rip complaining about leaving future tech behind.”_

“Except for the chronium,” Ray muttered under his breath as he walked out of wardrobe, heading for the orchestra pit.

The part was easy enough, just promenading around the stage with one of the chorus girls. There was just one problem: It was a singing role, and Ray was definitely _not_ a singer.

Eventually the music director threw up his hands. “All you need to do is look good. Pretend to sing but I don’t want to hear one lousy note outta your mouth!”

Ray winced to hear Mick snickering over the comms. _“Gonna have to start calling you ‘Milli Vanilli,’ Haircut!”_

* * *

**_3 P.M._**  

Mick chuckled at the antics of Eddie Foy far below on the stage of the Iroquois Theatre. Just minutes into the second act, the star of _“Mr. Bluebeard”_ was sashaying across the boards for all he was worth in his wig and dress, delivering his lines in a shrill voice. Decades before anyone had ever heard of RuPaul, Foy cut quite a figure as “Sister Anne.”

“So where’s your friend?”

Mick turned to see a fairy standing on the catwalk. A fairy with tissue-paper wings, wearing a harness and carrying a basket full of pink carnations. “Hey, Nellie. Can you believe they’re putting him in the _‘Pale Moonlight’_ number?”

The actress’ eyes widened. “You’re kiddin’ me.”

He shook his head. “Nope. He’s right down there.” Mick pointed toward the right stage wing, where Haircut was waiting for his cue to go on. “Director thought he was an understudy and told him to get into costume.”

Nellie shook her head. “Can you believe this business? A stagehand gets a chance to get on the boards without even an audition, while an experienced actress like me gets stuck flying over the house dropping flowers on the audience.”

“There’s no justice,” Mick agreed with a smile, deciding not to tell her about Haircut’s total lack of singing talent. “Aren’t you supposed to go get wired up?”

“I’m on my way. Just wanted to stop by and say hello. If I’d known you were alone up here, I’d’ve come by earlier, handsome.” She reached into her basket and took out one of her carnations, putting it into the buttonhole of his coat, just as she’d been doing every show since they started this gig a couple of days ago. Nellie was quite the flirt.

She batted her lashes at him. “See you later.”

Mick watched her stroll down the catwalk, heading to another one at the front of the stage. That was where she would be hooked to a trolley wire that would carry her out over the house, like Tinkerbell. He’d actually called her that the first day, to her confusion. Then Haircut whispered to him that _Peter Pan_ wouldn’t debut in London until next year.

Nellie never would understand the Tinkerbell reference. She’d be dead in a few days, from injuries suffered in the fire.

Mick glanced down at his carnation, and then looked at his watch. “Haircut, two minutes.”

* * *

Ray looked up toward the fly gallery and nodded to let Mick know he’d heard. Then he felt a nudge from Vera, the chorus girl he was partnered with for _“In The Pale Moonlight.”_  

“Nervous?”

“No,” Ray answered at first. Then, “Maybe. A little.”

She smiled and threaded her arm through his. “Stick with me and you’ll be fine, cutie.”

Eddie Foy finished his monologue and exited, stage right. He passed them on the way to his dressing room and told them to “break a leg."

They heard the creaking of pulleys as the stage crew changed the scenery, then Vera was tugging on his arm. “Time to go, cutie.” Then she was pulling him out on stage.

Ray blinked under the spotlight shining on them. The rest of the stage and the house were dark. The only other light was an arc lamp, representing the moon. He let Vera lead him around the stage, mouthing the words the others were singing.

_“The chronium’s in place,”_ Mick said through the comms. _“I’m heading down.”_

Ray nodded in response, still promenading to Vera’s lead. Then she froze and screamed, pointing above them at the “moon.”

The fire had started, and was spreading more quickly than Ray had imagined it would. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a stagehand striding in that direction with a canister labeled “KILFYRE” in large letters. He threw the flame-retardant powder in the air toward the blaze, but couldn’t throw it high enough. The powder fell uselessly to the floor, and the fire kept climbing.

Right up toward the fly gallery.

Screams and panic followed. Vera fainted dead away. Ray barely managed to catch her before she hit the stage.

“Mick?” he called, hoping the other man could hear him over the comms.

_“Don’t worry about me, Haircut,”_ came the reply, with the sound of crackling flames in the background. _“Get your stuff and get out of there.”_

Then Ray heard a loud sound, like something large snapping, and the background sound from the comms was gone.

_Dammit._

Ray hoisted Vera over his shoulder and ran offstage, passing Eddie Foy heading toward the footlights. Ray could hear the actor shouting to the audience to remain calm and not panic.

_Too late for that._

Smoke was already billowing over the backstage area, where actors and crewmembers were rushing toward the back door. Ray found himself swept along by the human tide, unable to resist while carrying Vera. It only took a minute before they were outside, where the pushing and shoving suddenly stopped. Ray felt Vera stir, and set her down on her feet, holding her steady as she blinked her way back to awareness. 

“You’re safe now,” he told her. He motioned to one of the other cast members to take charge of her, and turned back toward the theatre.

“Where are you going?” she called.

Ray looked back over his shoulder. “Time for me to be a hero.”

* * *

Mick pulled himself back to his feet and put a hand to his throbbing ear, feeling something wet there. Pulling his hand away, he saw it was blood. 

And his earpiece was gone. Probably knocked out by the pulley that had clonked him on the side of the head. He was lucky he hadn’t been knocked off the catwalk to the stage below.

He took a breath and looked around. His original escape route was now a wall of flame, but the ladder at the other end of the catwalk was clear, so he headed that way, holding onto the railings to keep his otherwise unsteady balance.

A groaning sound, _not_ made by the fire, stopped him in his tracks.

He knew what to expect, both from what the rest of the team had told him and from what he’d learned from the Time Masters. But the reality of Jurgen’s Ridge suddenly looming over the stage was something else: the dark vortex shot through with lightning flashes of images. Sara had said they were too fast to be seen, but Mick’s trained eye was able to pick out a few of them before the Ridge vanished.

“We’re getting you out of there, partner,” he growled before starting to climb down the ladder.

He only got about halfway down before flames blocked his path again. He looked around and focused on the lighting scaffold about ten feet away. If he could get to that, he could climb around it to the third-floor crew access, and from there, get out of the building before he became part of the barbecue.

It was too far for him to jump. But a chain from one of the pulley systems was just barely within reach. He leaned out, one hand holding the ladder, the other stretching out to grab the chain. He gave it a pull, and then another, to make sure it was secure.

“Time to make like Tarzan,” he muttered, grabbing the chain with both hands and pushing off the ladder to swing toward the scaffold. He landed with a grunt, then clambered around the structure to get to the crew passageway.

Once there, he could see smoke billowing up from one direction. He’d have to go to the third-floor dressing rooms and try to get out through one of those windows.

But he had no idea how he’d get down.

He started for the dressing rooms anyway. “Where the hell is Haircut when I need him?”

* * *

“Now I know what the salmon feel like when they’re swimming upstream,” Ray mumbled to himself as he finally got back to the wardrobe room. His clothes were still where he left them. More importantly, the ATOM suit and his Gideon-made watch were also still there. Within moments, he was in the suit, shrunken down and ready to find Mick. 

He flew out of the wardrobe room, over the crowds of people stampeding toward the emergency exits. He knew there were about two dozen of them, but only two had been opened so far. Two men were struggling with the strange lock on the third door, a group of women and children hovering behind them.

Ray wrinkled his brow. Gideon’s records said a third emergency door had been forced open, but the records weren’t clear on how it had been done… the records said either by brute force or a blast of air.

Or maybe by ATOM power? “Time to be a hero,” Ray said to himself again. He flew over the group and pointed his photon cannons at the door. The double blast blew the door open, and the frightened theatre-goers were able to make their escape.

“Now, where are you, Mick?”

* * *

 

The third floor dressing room was starting to fill with smoke as Mick waited for his turn on the makeshift catwalk to safety. 

Only one of the women who went out before him made it all the way across the plank. The other fell when her feet got tangled in her long skirts. She lay in the alley like a broken doll, visible only for a moment. Then thick smoke on the ground level obscured the sight.

Mick swallowed and climbed onto the windowsill. He gingerly inched out onto the plank on his hands and knees, testing its strength. He looked ahead to the pair of construction workers who were holding the plank in place. He took in a deep breath…

And began coughing violently from the smoke rising up around him. The plank began to shudder under him, and while it was held by two strong men at one end, there was nothing to secure it on the theatre side. That end of the plank began to shift… and slid right off the windowsill.

Mick and the plank both plunged into the smoke.

That should have been it for Mick Rory, ironically killed in a fire he didn’t even start. It would have been, if not for one Ray Palmer in his super suit.

Ray swooped in and intercepted Mick within the smoke, grabbing him by both hands to stop his fall and land him gently on the pavement. Mick’s arms felt a little pulled out by the sockets, but he figured it was better than being street pizza.

Or a broken doll. He turned away from the sight of the dead woman on the ground.

“Thanks, Haircut,” he said. “I’m not gonna let Snart call you ‘The Incredible Shrinking Schmuck’ any more.”

Ray grinned through his visor. “I always took that as a sign of affection.”

Mick grunted. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

Sara and Stein were already back from their own mission to a 19th century South African prison when the jump ship re-docked with the Waverider.

They were also both soaking wet.

“You got a fire, we got a flood,” Sara said as she began to pull off her wet dress. She threw it at Jax when he yelped and turned away. “Don’t be silly, Jax. I can peel off two more layers and still be more covered than I am in the Canary suit. But I won’t. Just wanted to get the worst off. Let me get rid of this damned corset and I’m done.”

“Whereas I will merely take off these boots for now and catch my breath,” Stein said, sitting down in one of the jump chairs to do just that. “Captain Hunter, I hope the results were worth hearing something that will likely give me nightmares for weeks?”

“That bad?” Ray asked.

The professor looked grim. “I don’t care what those prisoners did to get themselves chained up in the dungeon at the Castle of Good Hope. No one deserves to drown like that.”

Sara put a hand on the professor’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze before explaining, “The chronium had to go right outside the cell, just as the storm was starting. I’ve never seen rain come down like that, ever. The water rose something like three feet a minute. The dungeon got flooded before anyone could get the prisoners out.” She let out a sigh. “But I’m not sure the guards really even wanted to try.”

“The screams of those men were horrible,” Stein said darkly. “But when they stopped screaming…”

Rip came out of his study with a bottle and glass. He poured for Stein and handed him the glass. Then with a wry smile, he passed the bottle to Sara.

“The calculations show we are still on target for our intercept,” Rip told them. “I know this has been difficult for all of you. You’ve had to leave a bit of your humanity behind…” he exchanged a look with Sara, “to protect history. But it’s all part of our mission.”

“Saving my partner,” Mick said. He was staring down at a ragged pink carnation in his hand, and had declined Sara’s offer of the bottle.

“Yes,” Rip agreed. “But it’s not merely because Leonard Snart is our friend. The future version of him saved all of us in our pasts. He saved you on that rooftop in Star City, Sara.”

Jax added, “And we’d all have been killed when Savage’s death released that wave of Time Force in Central City if Future Snart hadn’t shown up to stop it.”

“Central City itself would have been destroyed,” Stein said.

Rip nodded. “Precisely.”

“Always looking at the big picture, aren’t you, Rip?” Ray asked.

Rip shrugged. “It’s how I was trained as a Time Master. We have to look at the big picture.” He took the bottle from Sara for a swig. “Two more stops, my friends. We’re almost there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As my epics tend to do, this is growing a little more than I'd anticipated originally. My outline became trash a while ago!
> 
> I'm expecting two, maybe three more chapters.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little surprised myself to have this chapter posted so quickly. The next one is a little more research-intensive, so it may take longer. 
> 
> Thanks again to Jael for all of the beta work on what's turning out to be an epic!

Sara sat by the forward window, staring out at the green maelstrom of the Temporal Zone. She turned away from the scene at the sound of Rip’s footsteps entering the bridge.

“Is Jax all right?”

Rip nodded. “Nothing Gideon couldn’t handle,” he said. “At least, the physical part. It would have been worse had Dr. Palmer not retrieved him so quickly from the rubble.”

He leaned against the holo table. “I think Mr. Jackson was much more rattled by the level of hate and violence in that era than he was by the blow to his head.”

“You’re probably right,” Sara replied. “To most of us, the Ku Klux Klan isn’t much more than a name in the history books. Speaking of which…” she cocked her head at him curiously, “…up to now, all our deflection points have been connected to… more minor historic events. The _Morro Castle_ instead of the _Titanic_. Lewiston instead of Gettysburg.”

He nodded, and she continued, “You told us the Time Masters wouldn’t have bothered with them. But that church bombing wasn’t really minor. It was a big deal for the civil rights movement. Why wouldn’t the Time Masters have hit that site for chronium?”

She leaned forward. “What didn’t you tell us this time?”

Rip blew out a sigh before answering. “The answer is a crude one, I’m afraid. Body count.”

Sara gave a resigned nod. “Thought it would be something like that.”

“Yes. Well, they discovered a direct correlation between a high number of deaths and the amount of chronium left behind by the Ridge,” Rip explained. He shook his head. “As horrific as it was for four little girls to die in that church bombing, the Time Masters would have disregarded the event because there were ‘only…’” he made air quotes… “four deaths. It was more efficient for them to only visit sites with massive death tolls of a thousand or more.”

“Pretty cold-blooded,” Sara observed.

Rip raised an eyebrow at her. “And that surprises you? Knowing everything else the Time Masters did? Mr. Snart was right in calling them the Time Bastards.” Rip stared down at the table for a moment, then met her eyes again. “We’re going to do better than that.”

“We?” Sara asked, raising an eyebrow of her own.

Rip pushed away from the table, walking to his captain’s chair. “While we’ve all been busy working to retrieve Mr. Snart, I’ve also been thinking about what comes after that. And the question that keeps coming to my mind is: Who will protect history with the Council gone?”

Sara stared at him in surprise. “You’re thinking _we_ should?”

He leaned forward. “If you all wish to join me. I know it’s one of many things you will have to discuss with Mr. Snart when we get him back.” Rip put a slight emphasis on _when_. “Of course, I will understand should any of you choose to follow Kendra and Mr. Hall back to your old lives.”

Sara reached for the locket hanging around her neck, thinking about her last conversation with Kendra.

 _“Sara, I know it seems like I’m abandoning you,” Kendra said_. _“But Carter wants to start over, and I can’t just leave him. He doesn’t have all his memories back, and he doesn’t know how to function on his own in the 21 st century.”_

 _“Kendra, you two have a history of four thousand years_ ,” _Sara answered._ _“Of course I don’t expect you to turn your back on that.”_

 _Kendra hugged her tightly. “You let us know when you’ve got him back. And when you do…” her_ _friend’s eyes got a little wicked, “Kiss him once for me.”_

Sara’s thoughts returned to the present, and to Rip’s proposal. “Rip, ever since this started, I’ve only been able to think a few minutes ahead,” she answered slowly, staring down at the locket. “I’ve been… afraid to do more than that. I’ve lost too much.”

She looked back up at Rip. “Right before… everything… he told me he’d been thinking about the future… _our_ future. That’s as far as the conversation went before he… you know.”

She sighed. “We’re so close to getting him back, but with our track record… I’m afraid of getting the rug pulled out from under me again.”

“Oh, Sara.” Rip stood and walked over to crouch before her. “I know I haven’t been much of a Time Master, too many times. But listen to me. We have set history right more than once on this… quest of ours, and I believe that has to mean we will be successful.”

He wrapped one hand around hers. “I need you to believe, too. Believe in this team, because we’re all with you. Believe in that Leonard Snart from the future.”

He took the locket from her fingers and opened it to reveal Len’s picture. “And believe in _this_ man, too, Sara. He may not have said anything until we got to the Vanishing Point, but he loved you long before then.” He looked down at the photo, then back up at her. “Just look at the way he looked at you when he thought no one was paying attention.”

He was looking at _her_ in that photo? With that soft expression? _Oh, Len…_

Rip gave her hands a squeeze. “Try to get some rest, Sara. One last stop tomorrow, and then we’ll bring him home.”

He rose and headed toward the passageway to his quarters. He turned back to her. “And Sara? Whatever you and Mr. Snart decide for your future… I will always be your friend.”

Sara nodded and he went down the passageway. She turned back to the window, but didn’t really see the Temporal Zone any more. 

Instead she saw a pair of blue-green eyes, gazing softly at her.

* * *

 

The thread for Sara was white. Again, not a surprise.

The first thing it showed him was a young girl sitting on a window seat, staring outside at three slightly older children.

Leonard’s memory had recovered enough for him to be able to identify those three older children from the stories Sara had told him over their card games. The girl was her sister, Laurel. The dark-haired boy was Tommy Merlyn. The blond boy was Oliver Queen.

And the little girl in the window seat was Sara herself.

She was as adorable as Lisa had been as a child: golden hair in pigtails, freckles scattered across her face. There was a wistful expression in her blue eyes as she watched the others at play, then she frowned down at the cast on her left ankle.

 _“I tried all kinds of things to impress Oliver,”_ he remembered Sara telling him. _“When I was six, he challenged me to jump with him off a jungle gym at the park. I broke my ankle, but I liked it when he put an arm around me to help me get home.”_

He watched the girl change while still sitting at the window. The cast disappeared first, then the pigtails. At one point, a cage with a small bird appeared beside her, then vanished again.

She grew taller and more beautiful.

But she still stared wistfully after Oliver Queen.

There were other boys… and girls… who flitted briefly through the thread of images as Sara tried to leave Queen behind. But his shadow always seemed to be there.

Leonard smirked a little as one of those boys taught her how to hotwire a car. Then he raised his eyebrows at the sight of a teenaged Sara handcuffed to a chair in what he was certain was a police precinct. The girl looked irritated until a woman in black smashed into the room.

Right. The Pilgrim. It had to be 2007. Which meant that soon…

Leonard swallowed as the scene changed yet again, and he saw a giggling young Sara Lance board a yacht with Oliver Queen.

He knew what was coming next. “Please, no,” he said softly, not wanting to see her with Queen.

Not wanting to see what he knew came after that: The _Amazo_. Lian Yu. Ivo. The League. Names mentioned in conversation. Part of her path to becoming an assassin.

“I don’t need to see this,” he said as he watched her get swept out to sea.

“That’s not her anymore,” he said as he watched her train in Nanda Parbat, becoming a skilled killer.

“She is _alive_ now!” he protested as he saw her take three arrows and plummet to the ground. He buried his face in his hands and took several shuddering breaths.

When he looked up again, the stream had turned white again, hovering a few feet away, as if it was waiting for him. “That’s not her anymore, but she wouldn’t be the person she is without any of it,” he said at last. “You… _somebody_ needed me to see that, just like you needed me to see what was done to Mick. I think I understand.”

He thought for a moment. “Show me… show me what’s happened to her since…” Suddenly the memory crashed in on him, full force. “Since the Oculus.”

The white thread surrounded him once more.

She was crying. That somehow shook him more than any of the things he knew happened to her after the _Gambit_. The Sara Lance he knew didn’t cry.

Mick was there too, looking hollow and lost. There were other faces he realized he knew as well, and the names came to him. Stein. Jax. Raymond. Rip.

All of them wore expressions of shock and mourning.

For him? Leonard Snart, robber of ATMs?

 _“He was a hero,”_ the image of Raymond said.

“I’m not a hero,” Leonard argued with the stream.

The image changed again, showing the team on a rooftop, all staring at a man in a blue parka.

 _His_ blue parka. Leonard stared, openmouthed, as he watched himself embrace Mick and Sara in a way he couldn’t remember ever doing.

But seeing it now, he wished he had.

_It’s the things I didn’t do keep me up at night…_

He smirked a little as he saw himself argue with Rip, and then took in a deep breath when the image Snart took Sara in his arms and kissed her like they were in a scene from a movie.

He _knew_ he’d never done that; he could now remember the one kiss Sara had given him, and that wasn’t it.

“So you’re just making stuff up now?” he asked the image stream dryly. “Okay, then. I told Sara I’d been thinking about what the future held for her and me.”

He shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable. “So show me.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did this all go to hell? I thought we just got out of Purgatory!”
> 
> All roads seem to lead back to Lian Yu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you start a story with one thing in mind. But then even the best-laid plans go sideways, to quote our favorite crook. That's what happened here.
> 
> Many thanks to Jael for multiple readings and for being a sounding board when I decided the original plan for this chapter just wasn't going to work at all.

**_Over the North China Sea, June 20, 1945_ **

 

 _“We can’t stabilize Captain Hunter with all this shaking, Sara!”_ Stein shouted over the comms from the Medbay. _“Hold him down, Mr. Rory!”_

 _“I’m trying to!”_ Mick shouted back. _“Can’t we lose those Zeros?”_

“We did lose the Zeros!” Sara snapped back from the captain’s chair. “We’re dodging American planes now!”

“We’re currently under attack by a squadron of American P-51 Mustangs,” Gideon reported. “And they are faster than the Japanese fighters.”

“ _Can’t we outrun them?_ ” Stein demanded.

 _“Not until Ray gets back on board with the ion drive!”_ Jax shouted from down in the cargo bay.

Mick roared, _“Haircut, move your ass!”_

 _“What do you think I’m trying to do?”_ came the reply. _“I’m pushing the suit as fast as it can go, but the salt water must have damaged the propulsion systems!”_

“Hang on, everybody!” Sara warned. “We’ve got incoming!”

Stein cursed as the ship bucked again. _“How did this all go to hell? I thought we just got out of Purgatory!”_

* * *

**_Temporal Zone, Twelve Hours Ago_ **

****

“This feels like a sick joke, Gideon,” Sara said flatly, staring at the holographic display. 

“I assure you, joking is not part of my programming,” the AI replied. “The calculations show this is our final destination before intercepting Jurgen’s Ridge.”

Sara blew out a breath and leaned against the table. “It always seems to come back to this place,” she murmured.

Lian Yu. The place that had remade her, purging her of the foolishness and selfishness that had brought her on board the _Queen’s Gambit_ all those years ago.

Purgatory.

“We are set to arrive in 1945,” Rip said. “Right before a Japanese submarine runs aground on this island with a cargo of the super-soldier serum that was supposed to be Japan’s last hope for victory.”

“Mirakuru,” Sara said with a nod.

Ray’s eyes widened. “You mean the same stuff Deathstroke’s army was on in Star City?”

“The same stuff that can heal injuries and give super-strength, along with a mega-dose of insanity,” Sara answered. “And I once thought it was going to save the human race.” 

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Then Stein asked, “So where do we need to put our last deflector?”

The holographic image zoomed in to the inland lagoon. A red X appeared on one of the tall peaks that surrounded the lagoon. “The chronium must be placed here, at 500 meters,” Gideon said.

“Easy enough for me to fly it up there after you drop me off,” Ray said. “No fires, no sinking ships…”

“Too easy,” Mick growled.

Jax nodded in agreement. “We never get it that easy.”

Rip glanced around the table. “Oh, come on, you lot. Don’t you think the universe owes us just one favor?” He strode over to his chair and motioned for the others to take their jump seats. “Gideon, set a course.”

Sara thought the universe owed her more than one favor, actually. But shortly after they emerged from the temporal zone, she knew that bill would keep collecting interest.

At least she wasn’t feeling anything from the time jump. Getting used to it, maybe.

“There is a problem, Captain,” Gideon announced as Lian Yu appeared in the forward window.

“Of course there is,” Stein sighed, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his temples.

Gideon continued, “My scan shows there is no way for the submarine to reach the inland lagoon where it will be found in 2008.”

“Are you sure, Gideon?” Sara asked, thinking back to when she and Oliver first spotted the site, stumbling through the forest with Slade and Shado. A decade ago in her personal timeline, but she still remembered their amazement at seeing the sub for the first time. “Look for a fissure below the water line. Slade said there had to be one for the sub to come so far inland.”

“I have scanned, Miss Lance. There is no fissure. As things stand, the submarine will run aground on the main beach, where it will be visible to Allied warships that will capture it and the Mirakuru.”

“And I bet that would not be good,” Jax said.

“That is an accurate assessment,” Gideon concurred. “Allied possession of the Mirakuru would lead to their use of the drug. A force of Allied super-soldiers would then stage a land invasion of Japan, with a greater death toll than resulted from the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

“And that would probably be just the beginning of the troubles this serum could cause,” Stein observed, putting his glasses back on.

“So what now?” Ray asked. “What’s our Plan B?”

“I hate Plan Bs,” Mick grumbled. “But it looks like we’ve got to fix history _again_.”

Rip stood and walked to the holo table. The others rose from their jump seats to join him. “Gideon, can we open a fissure for the submarine?”

“Yes, Captain,” the AI responded. The projection shifted again, and a line appeared, running from the lagoon to the open ocean. “Concentrated photon blasts along this route will open a passageway from the sea to the inland lagoon.”

Rip furrowed his brow. “That’s several miles of blasting. How long will it take to perform this operation?”

“Longer than we have if the Waverider is to leave this area in time to avoid an incorrect diversion of Jurgen’s Ridge,” Gideon reported. “The ship must depart within the hour to avoid leaving residue of temporal radiation.”

“If we leave residue, it will alter the Ridge’s course too early,” Stein said.

“And everything we’ve done will have been for nothing,” Sara concluded bitterly, remembering what she’d told Rip just hours before. “ _I’m afraid of getting the rug pulled out from under me again.”_

“Can’t we go back and blast it?” Jax asked, but no sooner had he finished the question than he figured the answer out for himself. “No, forget it. If we had gone back it would be open already.”

“I can open the fissure,” Ray said. “Photon blasts? Easy. I’ll just expand the suit and blast away.”

“You’ll have to go underwater,” Sara said. “Can the suit handle that?”

Ray nodded. “I made some modifications after that EVA when I had to fix the hole in the ship. Gideon, I will need you to fabricate a few extra oxygen tanks, too. Same specs as the ones I already have so they can grow and shrink. One set won’t be enough.”

“Affirmative, Dr. Palmer.”

“What about the power you need to expand the suit?” Stein asked. “I understand you used the auxiliary time drive to fight Savage’s giant robot, but if we’re not supposed to leave temporal radiation…”

“The Waverider has two other propulsion systems,” Rip said. “The electromagnetic drive for atmosphere and the ion drive for space.”

“Right!” Jax said. “I can pull the ion drive in less than an hour, so you can use that, Ray.”

“That takes care of fixing history,” Rip said. “Gideon, will there be enough time for Dr. Palmer to blast open the fissure and plant the chronium?”

“No, Captain. Someone else will need to place the last deflector. And the Waverider cannot approach the rock formation,” Gideon said. “It would retain too much temporal radiation.”

“So we have to climb it,” Rip sighed. “All right. Gideon, I’ll need some of my climbing gear. The ropes and pitons from the 1940s.” He grinned at the surprised looks around the table. “You didn’t know I suffer the particularly British madness of mountaineering, did you? Rock climbing isn’t that different. I’ve done 6,000-meter climbs, my friends. This one isn’t even a thousand meters. It should be easy.”

“I’m going with you,” Sara announced. When Rip raised an eyebrow at her, she said, “I know how to handle ropes and pitons. Nyssa and I did a lot of climbing in Nanda Parbat. Enough to know you shouldn’t go it alone.”

He nodded his assent. “All right, then. Let’s get ready. The clock is ticking.”

* * *

 

**_Lian Yu, June 20, 1945_ **

 

Grunting with effort, Sara pulled herself up onto the ledge and sat next to Rip. She gratefully accepted the water bottle he held out to her and took a long pull before handing it back and looking down at the lagoon’s surface far below. 

“Fifteen minutes rest, then we’ll make our last push,” he said. “We’re almost there and we’re making good time. Let’s not muck it up in the final ascent. Dr. Palmer should be checking in again soon.”

They’d quickly found that they couldn’t talk to Ray while he was blasting through the island’s bedrock. There was something in the geology that disrupted the comms. He’d taken to checking in whenever he emerged from the tunnel to swap his oxygen tanks.

Rip took the water bottle back from Sara for a drink of his own. “You know, if I didn’t know what a hellhole this place is, I would think it would be a nice spot for a holiday,” he said. “The view from up here is incredible.”

She had to concede that. The waters of the lagoon were as clear and blue as she remembered, lapping at a beach of white sand. A pair of seabirds flew over the scene.

It looked like a postcard picture.

But even under the beauty, she could feel an undercurrent of… she couldn’t think of a better word for it than _evil_. She shivered a little at the thought.

Rip noticed the tremor. “Are you all right, Sara?”

“Yeah. It’s just… this place,” she replied, tipping her head back against the rock face. “I know it’s going to be years before all the terrible things that Ollie and I went through… will go through… but when you get past the beach view, you can feel…”

“A taint,” Rip finished. “Yes. There are some places that seem to have a psychic stain, and they can draw the Ridge over and over again. This…” he waved his hand in a circle, “This is one of those places.”

He looked thoughtful, taking another pull from the water bottle before speaking again. “You know, the records say the Ridge manifests differently in such places than it does anywhere else,” he said. “For example, you’d think there would be tons of chronium left from all those visits… but you won’t find a speck except for what we’re carrying right now.”

“Because of this… stain?”

He dipped his head to one side in a sort of nod. “That was the theory.”

She thought about that for a moment, and then asked, “Did the stain come from the Ridge, or from things that have happened here?”

Rip snorted. “That’s a chicken or egg question, Sara. The Time Masters were never certain. Not that they cared after figuring out there wasn’t any chronium to be had. Practical bastards, they were. Not ones to delve too much into the nature of good and evil.” He smiled bitterly. “Which is why they backed Vandal Savage.”

The smile disappeared as he studied her. “You’re worried about the effect on Mr. Snart.”

She nodded. “I know the future version of him will be all right, but what about the Leonard who’s there on the Ridge right now?”

Rip stretched his arm around her shoulders. “We both know he lived through waking nightmares for most of his childhood. He’s got the strongest will of just about anyone I’ve ever met, Sara. Except maybe for you.”

Sara chuckled and leaned in to him as he squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. “From what I’ve seen of his future, and what I know of his past, I have faith that he can handle anything the Ridge can throw at him.”

* * *

Leonard could believe the images of Sara piloting the Waverider; after all, he’d seen her do it before. But against vintage fighter planes? That one took him by surprise. 

He could also believe the images of her kicking the asses of a bunch of guys in Iron Heights jumpsuits. And he could believe her doing it with a troop of fighters in masks and multicolored leather. He recognized at least one of them, all in green.

Sara kicking ass wasn’t anything new to him, either. Not that he didn’t love to watch her work, with the grace of a deadly dancer.

But fighting a giant… shark? A _walking_ giant shark, at that?

Really?

“I think you didn’t understand me before,” he drawled to the powers-that-be who controlled this show, whoever the hell they were. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. I want to see what the future held for her _and_ me, before I went and blew myself to… whatever this place is.”

The image stream flickered for a moment. He eyed it, then said, “But you still have things you want me to see first, don’t you?”

He sighed. “All right. Show me what you think I need to see, but no Wikipedia crap. Then show me what I asked for.”

* * *

Ray took a deep breath. “One last blast,” he said to himself, and aimed his gauntlets to fire. “Now!” 

Bolts of photon energy streamed from the gauntlets, pulverizing the stone barrier in front of him. He was buffeted by the colliding water flows, but managed to grab onto an outcropping of rock to wait for things to calm down. As the debris settled, he could see light ahead of him for the first time.

“I’m through!” he exclaimed.

And just in the nick of time. He could hear sonar pings headed in his direction. The Japanese were here.

He swam out of the tunnel and peered into the murky waters. The sub was approaching. His eyes widened as one of its torpedo ports opened, and a torpedo began gliding straight toward him.

“They must think I’m another sub! Better get back to normal!” he said, pushing himself upward, out of its path, and shrinking back to normal size.

The torpedo shot by, impacting on the rising surface of the island. He tumbled through the disturbance created by the impact. There was nothing for him to grab hold of this time, so he rode it out like a bottle on the waves. Once he’d re-oriented himself, the sub was gone.

He blasted toward the ocean surface and into the sky. He turned back toward Lian Yu. His computer readout told him he was now about a mile off its coast; he’d had to blast that far.

“Sara? Rip? I got history fixed!” he called over the comms. “Are you two all right?”

 _“Yeah. The sub is in the lagoon, just where Ollie and I found it,”_ Sara replied. _“The soldiers are abandoning ship pretty quickly.”_

“All right, I’m heading in your direction,” Ray said, flying toward the island. He furrowed his brow as he realized he wasn’t flying quite as quickly as normal. “Hm. I think the water might have affected my propulsion system,” he said. “The suit’s moving slower than usual.”

 _“That’s probably why Gideon said you couldn’t blast the tunnel and place the chronium,”_ Rip theorized.

 _“Be careful,”_ Sara warned. _“They’re already in the forest. You don’t want them spotting you.”_

“Right. The sub already fired at me once. I don’t want to give them a second chance,” Ray agreed. “I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

 _“I’m placing the chronium now,”_ Rip said. _“The Ridge should manifest at any moment. Keep a sharp eye out. It may be a bit of a bumpy ride.”_

“Sharp eye for what?” Ray asked, looking around.

The sky over the island seemed to darken suddenly. “Oh. _That_.”

He could see the trees bending in a sudden wind, and whitecaps forming in the waters close to shore. Then a great dark cloud appeared in what had been a clear June sky, hovering over the center of the island.

 _Dear God,_ Ray thought as the cloud descended. It wasn’t quite what Sara had described, but he could see flashes of color breaking through the darkness.

“Rip? Sara? Are you two all right?” he called as he finally reached the shore.

There was nothing but static over the comms. That and the sound of wind.

And… screaming? Many voices, screaming?

“Rip? Sara? Come on, guys, you’re scaring me!” Ray called again desperately, as he was buffeted by the same winds that were shaking the trees below him.

And then the darkness vanished, along with the sounds of screaming. The winds calmed.

And Sara was calling to him. “ _Ray? Raymond? Are you there?"_

“Here!” Ray answered. “I’m almost to the lagoon. Are you all right?”

To his horror, Sara answered, “ _Rip’s down! He lost his footing and fell when the Ridge came down with all that_ wind.”

“Oh, my God. Can you see him, Sara?”

 _“He’s about 50 feet below me, on a ledge,”_ she replied.

“Are you all right?” 

Silence over the comms for a moment. Then, “ _Not really. I’m hanging from a safety line, but I don’t know how long it’s going to last.”_

He finally reached the lagoon. His visor zoomed in to the peak Sara and Rip had been climbing. He could see Sara dangling from her rope, and Rip on a ledge far below her. “Sara, I’ll be right there!”

* * *

“Hurry!” Sara urged. She looked at the rock wall before her, searching for some place to get at least a toehold. But this was a sheer surface, with nothing to grasp. 

And her hammer and pitons were gone. They’d plummeted to the ground when the wind knocked her and Rip off their feet.

She gasped and closed her eyes as she felt her rope slip again. _Hurry, Ray._ _It’s not supposed to end this way._

“Sara!”

Her eyes flew open at the sound of Ray’s booming voice calling her name. 

“Let me give you a hand.” He chuckled. “Literally.”

A giant-sized Ray Palmer was hovering next to her, extending his right hand to scoop her from the rock face.

“You have got to be kidding me!” She unclipped her safety line and collapsed into his palm, shaking for a moment, both with relief and a little laughter at the situation. _This is like a scene from a bad monster movie. No one will ever believe it._  

Ray pulled back from the peak and put his open palms next to each other. He’d already picked Rip up. Sara scrambled over to him. The former Time Master was breathing, but very pale and still. “He doesn’t look good, Ray.”

“The bioscan shows severe internal bleeding,” Ray said, slowly descending toward land so he wouldn’t jar them.

“Gideon will take care of him,” she said confidently. “They’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“Sara, I don’t think he has ten minutes.”

She stared up at Ray’s face, which was grim through the visor. She thought for a moment, then gritted her teeth. “Ray, take us to the sub.”

His eyes widened. “What are you…”

 

“There’s Mirakuru on the sub! It can save him!”

Ray was still hesitating. She snapped, “He’ll _die_ if we don’t! _Now_ , Ray!”

He nodded and glided them over to the sub, placing them gently near the hatch before shrinking back down to normal size. Sara opened the hatch and climbed down the ladder, running down the passageway to find the box of Mirakuru that would still be there in about 60 years.

She found the box and pulled out one hypodermic needle. She turned and saw Ray had followed her, gently carrying Rip.

“Lay him down,” she directed. She looked at the cabinets, and reached into the one she remembered from her last visit. There it was: the syringe of sedative they’d found when trying to save Slade in 2008. But the syringe had been empty then.

It was full now.

She took a deep breath. “Ray, I’m going to give him the sedative first, then the Mirakuru. I’m going to need you to hold him for me when I do.”

Ray nodded, his own face looking pale. She rolled up one of Rip’s sleeves and injected him with the sedative. She returned the needle to the cabinet where she would find it again in the future. Then she picked up the Mirakuru.

“Here goes,” she murmured… and inserted the needle. Once the vial was empty, she pulled the needle and dropped it onto the deck, watching Rip’s face intently.

A minute passed. “My scanner’s not showing any change,” Ray said. Then, “Wait! I’m seeing an increase in metabolic activity!”

Rip began to shake. “Hold him!” Sara ordered. She grabbed onto his arms, while Ray held down his shoulders.

The shaking increased, and Rip cried out in pain. Sara tightened her grip…

And bit her lip hard when blood began to seep from his eyes.

* * *

The Waverider burst back into 1945. Jax gasped at the sight of the submarine in the middle of the lagoon. “Man, that’s freaky!” 

Mick grinned from the captain’s chair. “You guys ready to go?” he called out, waiting for a response from one of the team.

Sara replied. _“Mick, pick us up at the sub. Hurry. Rip is hurt!”_

Mick exchanged a worried look with Jax and the professor. “I’ll get the Medbay ready,” Stein said.

Mick nodded. “Gideon, you’ll have to do the flying.”

“Of course, Mr. Rory.”

He rose from the captain’s chair. “Come on, kid. Let’s go see what our Captain did this time.”

They ran down to the cargo bay, where the external hatch was just opening. Sara bounded in, followed by Haircut, who was cradling Rip in his arms. Mick blinked at the trails of blood from the captain’s eyes. “What the hell happened to him?”

“He had a dose of Mirakuru,” Haircut said, passing Rip over to Mick. “We’ll explain later. Gideon, we need a cure for that stuff!”

“Creating it now,” Gideon replied.

“Where’s the ion drive?” Jax asked.

“Left it on the shore with my oxygen tanks,” Ray answered. “I’ll go get them and be right back.”

He had just turned back toward the hatch when the Waverider shook. “What the hell now?” Mick snapped.

“We are being fired upon by Japanese Mitsubishi A6M Zeros,” Gideon reported.

“What’d I say before? We _never_ get it that easy!” Jax exclaimed.

* * *

Outrunning the Zeros actually had been the easy part; they had a top speed of just over 330 miles per hour, and the electromagnetic drive could handle that speed and more. Once they’d blasted away from Lian Yu, it only took minutes to leave the Japanese fighters behind. 

The problem was outrunning the American Mustangs while _not_ outrunning the A.T.O.M. suit. Ray’s top speed should have been faster than the WWII aircraft, but the suit’s submersion in salt water for so long had done something to its propulsion system.

The weight of the ion drive wasn’t helping any, either. He couldn’t shrink that like he had done with his oxygen tanks.

Sara was sitting in the captain’s seat, but Gideon was the one in charge, executing a series of evasive maneuvers to avoid the American fighters while trying to rendezvous with Ray in midair. As the sky spun crazily in the forward window, Sara gave thanks for the Waverider’s artificial gravity and for her empty stomach.

A pair of Mustangs barreled straight toward the ship, firing their guns. Sara’s eyes widened as a small, splintering hole appeared in one of the window’s side panes.

“Gideon, don’t we have shields?”

“They are powered by the ion drive, which is still in Dr. Palmer’s possession,” Gideon replied.

There was a glimmer over the window pane. “I am able to create a localized force field to minimize the damage,” Gideon said.

 _“That’s great for you!”_ Ray said over the comms. _“But I don’t have shields, and I do have too much company!”_

“Ray, have you been hit?”

_“Not yet, Sara! But they’re starting to figure out my moves!”_

“Then we’ll have to throw them another one that they cannot copy,” said a cool voice from the bridge entrance.

Sara looked over her shoulder to see Rip standing there, traces of blood still on his face but otherwise looking like himself. “Are you all right?”

He strode over to her side. “Fine. Gideon’s cure worked.”

She looked at him uncertainly. “The S.T.A.R. Labs cure didn’t work that fast.”

He smirked. “Gideon was able to improve upon it. Now… Gideon, Dr. Palmer. We can’t play at the Americans’ level. We’ll have to… up our game. To about 43,000 feet, to be exact. The Mustangs can’t climb that high.”

“Confirmed,” Gideon said. The Waverider began to climb. “Sending rendezvous coordinates to Dr. Palmer."

 _“Be there in a minute,”_ Ray said.

“Professor Stein and Mr. Rory are standing by in the cargo bay to bring you in, Dr. Palmer. Then you and Mr. Jackson have to re-install the ion drive before we return to the Temporal Zone. We’re going to need the power.”

He gave Sara a slight smile. “Once we’re there, the real race begins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking like two more chapters at this point. Thanks for reading. And for commenting. (Hint, hint.)


	11. Chapter 11

**_60,000 Feet Above The Pacific, June 21, 1945_ **

****

Mick turned off the Heat Gun and stepped back to inspect the new windowpane he’d just welded into place. Sara knelt to take a closer look at the old damaged one.

The bullet from a P-51 Mustang was still embedded in the glass.

She grinned as she pointed it out to Mick. “Another souvenir for Rip’s collection,” she said. He smirked back at her.

Repairing the shot-out window was just one part of the work the team had needed to finish before going into the Temporal Zone to catch Jurgen’s Ridge, and finally, _finally_ bring Len home again.

“It will be a bumpy ride once we intercept the Ridge, and the Waverider needs to be in top condition,” Rip had said. “We have time to make sure of that here in 1945. Once we’re back in the Temporal Zone, we won’t have that time.”

So Gideon kept them high above the Pacific, out of range of any planes, Allied or Japanese, while Jax and Rip reinstalled the ion drive and checked out the time drive. At the same time, Ray inspected the Waverider’s exterior to make sure there wasn’t any other damage from their little dogfight.

Sara carried the glass over to Rip’s study, where Stein was taking one more look at the math with Gideon, to plot their course while in the Zone. She leaned the pane against the wall, then turned to the professor. He’d been scribbling equations across the glass wall. She tried to follow the numbers and symbols, then shook her head with a wry smile.

“Please tell me all that means we’re on target,” she said.

“It does, Miss Lance,” Stein replied. He pointed to the top row of equations. “This first row determined our need to go to Lewiston and to the _Morro Castle_. The next row shows the impact of those simultaneous deflections, leading us to Chicago and to Cape Town.”

The pattern of the equations started to fall into place, even if the math itself didn’t. “And then the third line is what took us to Birmingham and to Lian Yu, and the last one shows where we’ll intercept the Ridge.”

Stein smiled. “Exactly! As soon as the repairs to the ship are done, we can be on our way.”

“The repairs are done,” Rip announced, coming onto the bridge with Jax and Ray. “Gideon, is there anything we missed?”

“Negative, Captain Hunter. All systems are at 100 percent of normal or better.”

“Excellent,” Rip said. “All right, everyone. Gather round. Mission briefing.”

The team converged on the holo table. “The aftereffects of the Mirakuru kept me awake for a while last night, so I spent the time doing some more research on the Ridge,” Rip told them. “Sara, I know you’re still worried about Mr. Snart’s mental state, so I started digging through the records about Jurgen himself.”

Rip touched a section of the table, and the image of a handsome dark-haired, bearded man appeared. “That’s Jurgen?” Sara asked.

“Yes, before he was lost on the Ridge.” The image changed, and the handsome man’s hair and beard became wild and unkempt, and his eyes… Sara shuddered at the haunted look in them.

Rip continued, “While we were still at the Vanishing Point, Gideon was able to download a great deal of information, including the writings of a doctor named Henares. He dealt with Jurgen after he was rescued, and recorded the things Jurgen said.”

Rip smiled bitterly. “This is another example of the tunnel vision of the Time Council. All they knew was that Jurgen was ‘broken’ because of the things he’d seen on the Ridge. They never looked into the nature of those visions.”

“But Henares did,” Stein surmised.

“And the Time Masters never bothered to look at what he found,” Mick said. “They just told everyone to keep the hell away from the Ridge, even if it meant a bounty hunter losing a target.”

“Yes. It suited them to keep us afraid of the Ridge,” Rip said with a nod. “Mr. Rory, your assessment of the Ridge as ‘hell’ is accurate as far as the official Time Council training goes. I received the same training. But from Henares’ account, some of us might just call it heaven.”

“What does that mean?” Jax asked.

“I told you that a man on the Ridge can see everything, and the implication was that the vision would be overwhelmingly negative. I’m a product of my training, I’m afraid. But the readings the Time Council never shared reveal that those visions can also be the things that are nearest to your heart. Your fondest wishes and desires.”

“Like when you have a really good dream that you don’t want to wake up from,” Sara added.

“Exactly. And on the Ridge, you don’t have to wake up. You can just stay in the dream. Forever,” Rip said with a sigh.

“Like being caught in the land of the lotus-eaters from Greek mythology,” Stein observed.

“Or staring into the Mirror of Erised,” Ray added. At Stein’s look, he shrugged. “You have the Greeks, I have J.K. Rowling.”

“It’s not a myth that my partner’s still there,” Mick interrupted with a glower. “Rip, what does all this have to do with getting him back?”

Rip looked down at the table as he answered quietly, “I’m telling you this because I want you all to understand why I’m not taking any of you with me onto the Ridge.”

There were sounds of protest around the table. Rip held his hands up for quiet. “I’m not going to risk losing anyone else to this… lotus land. There isn’t one of you here who wouldn’t be susceptible to the temptations of the Ridge.”

Sara frowned. “Rip, you’re just as susceptible. You’re the one who spent hours replaying that recording of your family.”

“I know,” Rip conceded. “But that was also a time when we were at a dead end in our mission against Savage. Time Masters are given training to resist the pull of history when a mission is underway.”

“That training almost failed you in Calvert,” Stein interjected.

Rip sighed. “Yes, I know that,” he conceded again. “But having been tested in the past, I know what I need to do now. Besides, all of you will have important tasks here on the Waverider.”

He touched another portion of the screen, and the image changed. “You’ll remember this diagram,” Rip said. “The orange circle is us, and the red triangle is the Ridge.”

The two shapes intersected in the time stream. The picture zoomed in, and they could see the orange circle shaking as the red triangle pressed against it. Mick grunted at the sight; the image apparently conveyed more to him than it did to the rest.

“Is that just distortion?” Ray asked. “I hope?”

Rip shook his head. “No. It’s a representation of what we can expect. Imagine a dam holding back a flood. The Waverider will hold the Ridge back from its path through history.”

“We’re the immovable object, and the Ridge is the irresistible force,” Stein said.

“Indeed,” Rip replied. “The deflectors we’ve placed through time will force the Ridge to stay where it is, but the resistance will be violent and could cause severe damage to the Waverider. It could even knock Gideon offline.”

“The probability is greater that I will need to shut down to save power for the engines,” Gideon stated. Sara felt a pang at the AI’s matter-of-fact tone.

“So what do you need us to do?” Jax asked.

Rip pointed to each of them in turn. “Mr. Jefferson, I want you and Mr. Palmer in the engine room monitoring the systems. Martin, you will stand by in the Medbay. There’s nothing on the Ridge that could physically harm Mr. Snart, but we don’t know if he was injured in the original explosion of the Oculus. Sara, you will be in the pilot’s seat here on the bridge. If Gideon does go offline, you will have to maintain our position blocking the Ridge. And Mr. Rory…”

“If things go really south, I scuttle the Waverider and get everyone out on the jump ship,” Mick said with a grim expression.

“That’s right,” Rip said in a quiet voice.

“What do you mean, scuttle?” Sara asked, though she had a sinking feeling she already knew.

“Blondie, we’re gonna get bounced around like a trailer park in a tornado,” Mick answered. “If the ship gets too damaged to fix, it can’t just stay in the time stream. It would be a navigation hazard all through time. We’d have to destroy it, and use the jump ship to escape.”

Sara looked at Rip. “And what about you and Leonard?”

He sighed. “If the worst happens, the Ridge will have moved on, and we’d be trapped.”

There was silence at that. Rip looked around at the team and took in a deep breath. “Right, then. Places, everyone. Time to fetch our missing teammate.”

* * *

Sara was lying small and still on the pavement, her white suit contrasting with the men in black who were lying all around her. 

None of them were moving either.

Leonard reached out, trying to touch Sara, but his hand went through the image as if passing through a ghost. Then the scene made another of those shifts he was starting to get used to. Now the vision was of a dock at night. Sara was there again, still untouchable, along with others he recognized as Star City’s resident vigilantes, once again in battle. He watched them fall one by one, the last victim the Green Arrow himself.

“Is this what happens because I’m not there? Are you trying to tell me Sara dies because I blew up the Oculus?”

Another shift, and he saw himself outside the Oculus Wellspring once again with his teammates from the Waverider. He watched them get cut down at a signal from Time Master Druce.

Except for Sara. She was dragged away and thrown into the same chair that had turned Mick into a monster.

“So if I hadn’t done it, Sara would have become one of the Time Bastards’ creatures, and the rest of us would have died right there at the Vanishing Point. What if I’d left Mick there like he wanted?”

Sara, dead again, this time in an alley. And he’s lying a few feet away from her, eyes open and fixed.

“And if it had been Raymond?”

Himself and Sara lying broken on rocks at the bottom of a cliff.

“So I’d’ve been dead any way you slice it.” He paused, reflecting, then asked, “Did they stop Savage?”

A woman with wings… _Kendra_ … swooping down to deliver the final blow. A blast of energy radiated from Savage’s body as he collapsed.

“Sorry I missed that. Did Rip save his family?”

He saw the former Time Master weeping over a woman and child. Not just once, but over and over again. He closed his eyes and drew in a pained breath.

“Dammit.” He opened his eyes again. “Was there ever a chance that he could save them?”

The images changed again, to the battle they’d once seen raging across London. Soaring overhead… the Waverider? But it looked a little different.

Another shift, and he saw a team of leather-clad fighters striding through the battle zone. He recognized the Green Arrow right away, and knew his little red sidekick and the man in the weird helmet from news accounts he'd seen before leaving Central. Firestorm and the Atom soared over the group, one sending out nuclear blasts and the other shooting his photon cannons. Mick was burning through soldiers with his Heat Gun, and yellow lightning zoomed around everyone. But… Barry wasn’t that fast.

Was he?

Cisco was there too, wearing a strange pair of goggles, holding a silver canister as if it was the Holy Grail. He was so focused on his burden that he didn’t see a soldier approaching…

Only to be flung away by a familiar burst of blue-white energy.

Leonard sat up a little straighter as he saw himself firing the Cold Gun at every target he could see. He watched the images for a moment, then said, “Wait a minute. How can I be there if I’m dead? Or are you showing what would have happened if I hadn’t died?”

He thought about it for a moment. “No. You showed me what would have happened if I hadn’t sacrificed myself. I asked you if Rip had ever had a chance, but it looks like we missed it.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, I guess. Is there anything else you need me to see?” 

The image stream had turned white, and showed nothing. He watched it for a moment, then said, “Then show me what I asked for before. What could it have been like for Sara and me?”

Pictures started to flow past him again. All the possibilities he’d imagined for “me and you,” and things he hadn’t dared to dream:

Kissing Sara at the window on the bridge of the Waverider….

Sara in a pale green dress, dancing with him in the moonlight…

Wrapping his arms around her as she wept in front of a statue of a woman in a mask...

Fighting side by side with her, each watching the other’s back, moving together in a deadly pas de deux…

Standing in the midst of a group of heroes ( _friends_ , his mind whispered), sliding a ring onto her finger and kissing her…

Back on the bridge, Sara with white flowers in her hair, kissing him again…

Sara smiling at him, rounded and… _beautiful_ with pregnancy…

Sara cuddling up to him on the floor, a small dark-haired boy sprawled over his chest… 

He felt the tears running down his face and made no move to wipe them away.

* * *

Rip held on to the bulkhead near the hatch, bracing for the impact with the Ridge. He imagined he could feel the vibrations of the engines through his fingertips.

Gideon gave the countdown. “Interception in five, four, three, two, one… Intercept.”

The ship rocked with the impact, and now Rip could feel a real vibration; the tension between the immovable object and the irresistible force. “Gideon?”

“Now, Captain Hunter.” The hatch opened. “Good luck.”

Rip stared out at the vista before him: A sloping surface of black rock rising upward. It disappeared into a white fog, reminding him of a snowstorm on a mountainside. He stepped out and felt the slide of loose rocks below his feet. He glanced back briefly at the sound of the hatch closing behind him, and saw the flickering green of the temporal zone above it.

“Take care of my ship, Sara,” he murmured. Then he began to climb.

* * *

Sara could feel the strain of the engines working to keep them in place, right through the metal of the captain’s chair. “Gideon, how’s our ship?”

“The resistance from the Ridge is causing a strain on the engines as expected, Miss Lance. We have power to hold the Ridge for thirty minutes with full systems.”

“Did you hear that, Rip? Clock is ticking!”

There was no reply over the comms. “Rip?”

“Captain Hunter’s comm appears to be offline. The concentration of chronium on the Ridge may be causing interference.”

Sara huffed out a sigh. “Then let’s just keep our fingers crossed, Gideon.”

And she crossed hers on both hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story has grown again, by about a chapter. Thanks for reading, and thanks in advance for leaving a comment.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to Jael for the beta.

 

Rip didn’t have to climb to the fog. It came to him, and he could see the images within it before they engulfed him.

People running, crying out in fear.

A burning city.

A mushroom cloud.

Himself, weeping over the bodies of his family.

And he didn’t just _see_ it. He could hear the screams, smell the smoke. He closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears. “No,” he said. “I’ve seen enough death and destruction.” He took a few steps up the slope, and the sounds faded.

He opened his eyes, and saw a multicolored tendril at his feet. It wound around him, as if testing him. As if _tasting_ him. It withdrew, and then offered new images:

Primitive men painting pictures of deer and buffalo on the walls of a cave…

Slaves moving huge blocks of stones under a hot Egyptian sun…

Blood soaking into the sand of the Colosseum as gladiators dueled and died…

History pulled at him, the way it had when he first learned about time travel, tempting him with visions of things that had been:

Tall ships crossing the sea, voyaging to new lands…

An artist with hammer and chisel, carving a masterpiece out of the finest Carrara marble…

A man gazing through an early telescope at the heavens above…

He stared as the images rolled on, each one offering him knowledge and vicarious adventure:

Explorers hacking through a steamy jungle…

Rough-looking men on horses, riding quickly across a plain…

A woman peering at a strange device, then writing down a string of numbers and letters…

Climbers ascending the final feet to a snowy mountaintop…

Rip shook himself and took a few more steps up. “It’s almost as if you’re sentient,” he said to the stream. “As if you know just what I’m drawn to. But these are all things I can see and do with the Waverider. You offer nothing of value to me.” He turned his back on the stream and began to climb.

He stopped at the sound of his name, spoken softly.

It was Miranda’s voice.

He turned back. She was there… no, her image was there, in the stream, and he saw himself there too. She was holding him as if she would never let him go.

_“Daddy…”_

And then Jonas was there, leaping into his arms in this… _mirage_ of a reunion with his family. His throat began to feel raw and tears rose in his eyes as he watched this… _fantasy_ of Miranda walking with him, holding his hand. This _illusion_ of Jonas running to play with another child, a boy with curly dark hair.

Rip had never seen that child before.

He watched himself kissing Miranda, laughing as she pulled him toward their bed on the Waverider…

Then put his hands over his eyes, trembling. “No. I cannot watch these lies. Miranda and Jonas are beyond my help, but there is a man here who is not. I need to find him, and if… whatever you are isn’t going to help me with that, then I have no use for you.” 

He uncovered his eyes and turned away from the images. The multicolored tendril circled him one more time, then started running up and across the slope. He watched it for a moment, then followed.

* * *

 

Lisa had now joined the procession of images. Leonard saw himself hugging his sister in a way she hadn’t allowed since she’d become an “independent” nine-year-old. He also saw her with Cisco…

And somehow didn’t mind that the Flash’s long-haired sidekick was holding his sister’s hand.

Of course it was all an illusion. There was too much… _joy_ … in these visions for them to ever be his reality. He’d never be that lucky, to see himself in something resembling a normal family.

To see his sister wearing a sweet, open smile, unlike the sly ones she’d grown into over the years.

To see actual happiness on Mick’s face instead of the grim glee associated with a job or with a destructive fire.

To see himself nestled with Sara in a hammock, with a look of utter peace.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, blocking the visions for just a moment, and remembered a visiting preacher who’d come to Iron Heights once to promise the fires of hell for any cons who stayed on the path of greed and evil.

The preacher had been wrong. Fire wasn’t the worst punishment Leonard could think of, now that he was seeing all the things that could have been.

_“Nothing quite like dying to make you think about all the mistakes, all the wrong choices.”_

To see what might have been was possibly the bitterest pill he’d ever taken.

But he couldn’t turn away from these images for long. They were like a drug, and while he’d never been one for drugs in life, what did it matter here and now, when he was dead?

He sighed and uncovered his face to see what other sweet torture awaited him.

_“It’s the things I didn’t do, keep me up at night.”_

His words to Sarah haunted him now as he saw her asleep on an outsized hospital bed in what looked like the Waverider’s Medbay. Two children lay on either side of her. One was the boy he’d seen in an earlier vision, older here, stretched out along Sara’s right side, his curly head pillowed on her shoulder. On her left was a small golden-haired girl who was partly sprawled across Sara.

The children were holding hands over Sara’s stomach. His heart turned over at the sight.

As he watched, a multicolored thread surrounded the image, framing it before the vision faded away…

To be replaced by Rip Hunter.

Leonard wiped at his eyes again and let out a frustrated sigh. “Great. So you’re done torturing me with might-have-beens and are going to stick me with Rip frickin’ Hunter for the rest of eternity? Now I know I’m in hell.”

The Time Captain laughed. “I might have known that when I found you, the first words out of your mouth would be an insult.”

Leonard’s eyes widened. None of the visions had ever _talked_ to him. “Rip? Are you dead too?”  
  
Rip smiled broadly. “I’m not dead, Mr. Snart. And neither are you. You’re just… stuck in the time stream.” He hunkered down in front of Leonard. “I imagine you’ve seen quite a few interesting things here.”

Leonard leaned back just a little. “Yeah. You could say that. So how do I know you’re real?”

Rip thought for a moment before reaching out with his right hand. “You’ve been able to see the visions, but you haven’t been able to touch them, right?”

Leonard gave him a side-eyed look and nodded. “But I can definitely be touched,” Rip said. “Take my hand.”

Leonard studied the proffered hand. Then he slowly reached out with his own right hand, certain it would pass through this vision of Rip as had happened with the other visions.

He let out a surprised breath as he felt Rip’s warm grasp.

“You see, Mr. Snart? I’m not an illusion. And I’m here to take you home.”

Home… _Lisa. Mick. Sara_. “I haven’t known what to believe,” Leonard said. “The things I’ve seen here… I’m not sure what’s real. I’m still not sure _you’re_ real.”

“This place, Jurgen’s Ridge, can show you what is, what was, and everything that ever could be, Mr. Snart. But they’re only images,” Rip told him, and squeezed his hand. “This… this is real, my friend.”

Leonard thought about the images of himself and Sara. “Things that could be?”

Rip smiled again. “Yes. You can stay and watch the possibilities… or you can come with me and make some of them into realities.”

_Lisa. Mick. Sara_. Leonard smiled back. “I’ve always preferred reality.”

He let Rip pull him to his feet.

* * *

 

“ _Bumpy ride,_ my ass,” Sara muttered under her breath. It felt like the Waverider was going to shake apart under the pressure of the irresistible force. “What’s taking them so damn long?”

_“Captain Hunter did say no time passes on the Ridge,”_ Stein said over the comms. _“It may be that he is unaware of how long he’s been away.”_

_“Or maybe he’s having trouble finding Snart,”_ Jax added.

_“Or maybe he’s having trouble convincing Snart to leave,”_ Ray suggested, naming the possibility that worried Sara the most.

She shook her head, willing that worry away. “Gideon, what’s our power situation?”

“We have power to maintain our position for five more minutes, Miss Lance,” the AI responded. “After that I will shut down to provide an extra five minutes.”

“What if we cut life support to the areas we’re not using?”

“Life support is already cut to the crew quarters, the galley, the workout room and the lower hold.”

Sara thought for a moment, her grip tightening on the armrests of the captain’s chair. “Jax, Ray, Professor. Get to the jump ship with Mick. Gideon, once they’re there, shut down life support to all sections except the bridge and the main hatch access.”

“I can also shut down the communication system. Those cutbacks will provide us with five more minutes,” Gideon reported.

“It’s worth it,” Sara murmured. “Gideon, shutting you down is the last resort.”

_“Sara, we’re supposed to monitor the ship’s engines…”_

“There won’t be anything _to_ monitor if we don’t have power, Ray!” Sara snapped back. “Just do it!”

Her teammates reluctantly acknowledged the order. Then Mick spoke up. _“Blondie, how will you get to the jump ship if all the systems are shut down?”_

Sara answered with a false brightness. “Captain’s supposed to go down with the ship, right? I’m in the captain’s chair. If we lose everything, I’ll scuttle the ship while you get away.”

Protests from her teammates.

_“That’s my job, Blondie.”_

_“Sara…”_

_“Miss Lance, no…”_

_“Do you wanna die again?”_

She smiled slightly. “I don’t _want_ to die again, Jax. But I’m not afraid to. I think that’s really why Rip wanted me in the seat for this.”

_“Blon… Sara.”_ A rare catch in Mick’s voice. _“I’ll see you on the other side, you got that?”_

She blinked away a tear. “Yeah, Mick. I got it.”

“Life support now shut down to all sections except the bridge and main hatch access,” Gideon reported after a moment. “Communications shut down.”

She drew in a deep breath, then asked, “Gideon, how long can you stay with me now?”

Quietly, Gideon answered, “Eight minutes, Miss… _Captain_ Lance.”

Sara’s lips quirked at the honorific. Then she crossed her fingers again.

* * *

 The tendril of color preceded them down the Ridge, through a white fog that limited how far they could see ahead of them. “It didn’t look like this before,” Leonard said.

Rip glanced around. “This is probably some sort of reaction to the Waverider’s time drive. We’ve got the ship blocking the Ridge from its path through the time stream.”

“At least we’ve got our little friend to guide us back.”

“Yes. It’s almost as if it’s intelligent,” Rip mused. “Whatever force is at work here, it responded to me when I resisted its original displays of history.”

Leonard chuckled. “I told it to cut the Wikipedia crap. Then it started showing me…” He shook his head. “It showed me things I’d rather not remember.”

“Yes,” Rip agreed. “And things you’d give anything to have.” There was a rough note in his voice.

Leonard nodded. He could imagine what Rip’s visions had been. “There was even a point where it seemed like it _wanted_ me to see certain things that I can only guess were from the future, like…”

Rip cut him off brusquely. “You can’t tell me, Mr. Snart. And don’t tell anyone else, either. If those were visions of the future, they have to unfold without our interference. The more people who know, the greater the chance of mucking it up.”

Leonard gave a _hmph_ of agreement and thought for a moment. “You know, you’re always telling us ‘time _wants_ to happen.’ But wanting is a conscious emotion.”

Rip shot him a look. “You’re suggesting time is a conscious force? I don’t know, Mr. Snart. But…” He stopped and his eyes widened. “We need to run.”

Leonard looked ahead. The fog had thinned enough that he could see the Waverider at last. Its belly was pressed crazily against the black rock surface, engines flaring as if it were in flight.

And it was slowly sliding across the rocks.

“The Waverider can’t hold the Ridge for much longer!” Rip exclaimed. “Come on, Mr. Snart!”

They began to run down the slope toward the ship, toward home. _Lisa. Mick. Sara._ Those three names echoed through his mind with every step. He was almost there.

The Waverider began to slide faster. As they got close, Rip leapt toward the external hatch release, slapping it open with one hand while grabbing on to a rail with the other. Leonard tried to follow, but slipped on some of the loose gravel covering the slope and fell hard.

“Leonard! Grab my hand!” Rip scrambled to the end of the now open entry ramp and extended a hand.

_Lisa. Mick. Sara._ Leonard pushed himself off the ground and jumped again, reaching, reaching…

And catching the Time Captain’s hand. Rip hauled him up onto the ramp and into the Waverider. As Leonard caught his breath, kneeling on the deck, Rip hit the hatch control and shouted, “Sara, get us out of here!”

“Ship’s communications are down to save power, Captain.”

Rip huffed. “Then it’s up to you, Gideon!”

“Course?”

“Anywhere!”

“Course set and executed,” Gideon said, ever the voice of calm. “Welcome back, Mr. Snart.”

Leonard rose and chuckled at the AI’s even tone. She’d probably report the end of the world in the same matter-of-fact way. Still… “Thank you, Gideon. It’s good to be here.”

“Captain, my scan of Mr. Snart shows he does not need immediate medical attention.”

Rip nodded. “Good. None the worse for wear, eh, Mr. Snart? Gideon, besides the comms, what’s our status?”

“Life support was cut to most of the ship to conserve power. We are down to critical levels but there is enough restore life support to the passages leading to the bridge. I suggest the crew convene there.”

Rip smiled. “Tell them we’re on our way.”

The two men fell into step as they headed up the passageway. As they walked, Leonard ran a hand over the walls and conduits. Just a little more reassurance that this was all real. “Rip, how long has it been for all of you, since…?”

“Since the Oculus? A bit over two months, Mr. Snart.”

Leonard looked over at him. “And Mick and Sara…?”

Rip’s smile grew broader. He nodded as a door slid open in front of them. “See for yourself.”

His teammates… _his friends_ … were ranged between the doorway and the holo table. But Mick and Sara were front and center, waiting for him, Mick standing utterly still but tensed as if to fight or fly, Sara’s eyes seeming to search his own for… something.

He just stared at them for a moment, and felt the tug of old habits urging him to turn away, so they couldn’t see what he was feeling.

He told the old habits to go to hell. “Am I forgiven?”

He couldn’t stop the internal wince at the way his voice broke on the question. 

And then they collided, all three of them, arms tightly wrapped around each other, clinging together in a knot of relief and joy and… _love_ that he never wanted to untangle. He felt the tears starting, and didn’t care who saw them.

He was home.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There might be nothing like dying to make you think about all the wrong choices... but there's also nothing like a welcome home party to give you time to get cold feet about doing the things you didn’t do before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to Jael for the beta.

**_60,000 Feet Above The Pacific, June 21, 1945_ **

****

There might be nothing like dying to make you think about all the wrong choices, Leonard reflected. But there was also nothing like a welcome home party to give you time to get cold feet about doing the things you didn’t do before.

The irony of having cold feet wasn’t lost on him, either.

Gideon had taken them to the last place and time the Waverider had visited, parking the ship in the same airspace where they’d repaired the damage from a dogfight with World War II fighters.

So _that_ vision had been true. Leonard wondered how long it would take him to sort true from false.

The ship and crew were more depleted than damaged after intercepting Jurgen’s Ridge. The setting sun gave them just enough power to restore full life support for tonight. Tomorrow, they’d fix the ship again, while the Waverider’s solar array got a full recharge.

But in the meantime, the team got its own recharge with a celebratory meal. (“You haven’t had anything to eat in over two months,” Raymond had pointed out. “Even if it feels like it was only a couple of hours.”)

Gideon actually threw out her health-conscious protocols for the night, replicating anything anyone asked for.

She even made Leonard some pickled eggs just like the ones at Saints and Sinners.

They’d brought it all up to the bridge, where there was more space than in the cramped galley, where they could watch the nearly full moon rising, and where Rip had easy access to another excellent bottle of scotch. And Stein didn’t complain when Jax got a glass along with all the rest.

Stories flowed along with the liquor, starting with the defeat of Savage and the appearance of Leonard’s own future self on a Central City rooftop. And he didn’t miss how Sara interrupted Jax in the retelling of that appearance, steering the story toward the departure of Carter and Kendra.

Some of the tales were humorous. He smirked at the mental image of a gigantic Atom carrying Sara and Rip in his hands, and at the idea of Raymond getting drafted into a chorus. (And based on what Mick said, he was glad Raymond didn’t give them a sample of the song.)

Some of them were startling. So Rip _had_ rescued his wife once, just not the version he still so desperately wanted to save. (One of the images from the Ridge flashed into his mind then: some battlefield? He’d have to take some time to pick that vision apart later.) 

And some of the stories were obviously more painful than they wanted him to know. Sara admitted to fighting against memories of being shipwrecked, but Raymond refused to talk about the _Morro Castle_ altogether, an uncharacteristic dark cloud passing over the man’s face.

Back on the Ridge, Leonard had been stunned by a vision of how they’d mourned him after the Vanishing Point. But hearing how they’d all risked themselves, mentally and physically, to get him back… that stunned him even more.

Even Stein, who’d once been so derisive toward Leonard and Mick, had nearly been swept away by floodwaters during their stop in Cape Town. He could have _died,_ widowing Clarissa… and Jax, too, for that matter.

The implications of that were staggering. No one, _no one_ , had ever done so much or risked so much for _him_. 

Well, maybe the Flash and his team, though he’d always thought they’d only helped Lisa because Cisco was sweet on her. Surely Barry Allen hadn’t risked a bullet just because he thought Leonard Snart had _good_ in him. 

Knowing just some of what his friends had done to save him gave him a feeling he couldn’t remember ever having before. He didn’t know what to call it, and he sure as hell didn’t know what to do with it, beyond thanking them.

Surprisingly, that seemed to be more than enough for them. Well, that and a barely tolerated hug from Raymond.

But there was no talk of him owing anything to anyone. No expectations of quid pro quo.

That was beyond his experience, and it also gave him a feeling he couldn’t quite name.

Nor was he sure what to do with his feelings for Sara, although he was pretty certain he knew what to call _them_. Sure, she’d kissed him at the Oculus when she thought he was going to die. But now, after that long, tearful reunion embrace, she was keeping just a little distance from him.

Oh, no more than had been their habit before. But after seeing what could be, even that distance felt like… a million miles away.

Maybe she was just giving him his space, remembering that he’d never been one for close contact before?

Or maybe she didn’t want to encourage him. That kiss might have merely been a goodbye, and not a response to “me and you.”

The images he’d seen of her on the Ridge were just possibilities, after all. They weren’t promises. And as much as he wanted to make them come true, he knew all too well that it would be too easy to make them never come true.

He was running out of time to figure it out. One by one, their teammates said their goodnights and wandered off to their rooms. Mick and Sara were the last to linger, and soon enough, Mick knocked back his last drink and stood up.

“Happy drinking’s definitely better than sad drinking,” he declared with a wink at Sara. “We need to do this more.”

Then he fixed Leonard with a glare. “But Boss, if you ever, _ever_ knock me out again…”

One side of Leonard’s mouth quirked up. “I got it, Mick.” He huffed in surprise when Mick pulled him out of his seat and into a bear hug, and chuckled a little when Mick released him. “All this touchy-feely stuff isn’t like you, partner.”

Mick gave him a half smile. “Well, buddy, people change.”

Leonard nodded, hearing the echo of his own words so long ago. “Got that, too. Mick… thanks.” He didn’t say for what; the list was decades long.

Mick returned the nod, then raised an eyebrow and jerked his head over toward Sara. She was now sitting in front of the forward window, gazing out at the night sky. Mick gave him a significant _look_ before heading down the passageway to his quarters.

Leonard turned back to Sara. She was looking at the moon, fingering a silver locket around her neck. For just a moment, images from the Ridge overlaid his vision: the little girl she’d once been, and the woman she might one day become. 

But first, he needed to talk to the woman she was right now. He blinked, and the images were gone. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then sat next to her, not touching, but within easy reach.

He decided to start with something safe. “That’s new,” he said, motioning toward the locket as she shifted to look at him.

“Jewelry by Gideon,” she said. “She gave us each a timer for placing those pieces of chronium. This one is mine.” She opened it to reveal a digital clock inside. 

He leaned forward to examine it more closely, and noticed an additional frame between the locket’s two sides. He flipped it down over the clock to see a photo of himself inside. He flicked his eyes up to Sara’s and was surprised to see her blushing, just a little.

“Gideon,” she said with a slight shrug.

Her blush got a bit deeper when his fingers moved from the locket to the silver ring on her right hand. “Um, Mick gave me this after… you know,” she said. “If you want it back…” She pulled her hands back to start taking the ring off.

He shook his head and leaned back, giving her a little breathing room. “Keep it,” he said. “Looks better on you than it ever did on me. And after what we’ve been through… I’ll never need a reminder about things going sideways ever again.”

He looked out the window at the moon. “You were right, you know. About dying. It _is_ lonely. I mean, I know I wasn’t really dead. But still… I may as well have been a million miles away from everyone I cared about. Lisa, Mick…” he paused and looked back into her eyes, “and you.”

She took in a deep breath at that. He leaned forward again, so her eyes were just a little above his. “Sara, before the Oculus, I told you I’d been wondering what the future might hold for me and you. While I was on the Ridge, I saw…”

She put her hand up to stop him. “Don’t tell me, Len. You know you can’t.” Then she laid that hand against his cheek. “Let’s just… let it happen?”

He reached out to mirror her action. “Me and you?” he asked her softly.

When she smiled and nodded, he closed the million miles between them to kiss her.

He meant to let her have control of the kiss, but the touch of their lips woke something in him and he needed… more. He snaked his free arm around her waist, pulling her closer, sliding his other hand from her cheek into her hair.

Sara whimpered into the kiss just a little, and surged toward him so she could straddle his lap, looping one arm under his and up his back, and running her other hand from his cheek to the back of his head.

It was everything he’d ever dared to imagine: Sara’s body pressed up against his, her hand caressing his back, her mouth opening sweetly to him when he flicked his tongue against her lips.

In fact, it was more than he’d dared to imagine, and it occurred to him for a moment that this could all just be another illusion. The thought made him hold her just a little tighter, cradling the back of her head in his hand, humming as the contact reassured him that _yes_ , this was Sara, right where he’d wanted her for so long and _yes_ , this was real.

His lips traveled from her mouth to her jawline and over to her ear, where he drew a groan from her with just a whisper of her name. Then he kissed his way down her neck, pausing at the pulse point there and finding more reassurance in its steady throb. He sighed and rested his head against her shoulder for a moment, just holding her and breathing her in while she traced gentle patterns on the nape of his neck.

“Gotta say,” he murmured, “I liked our second kiss a lot better than our first. Nobody’s about to die.”

He felt her shake a little with laughter, and raised his head to look at her. “What? I was serious.”

“Sorry. Time travel,” she said with a smile. “That was our second kiss for you, but not for me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is that why you interrupted Jax’s story about Future Me saving the day? There was kissing involved? Or will be?”

She nodded and leaned her forehead against his. “I didn’t want to put any pressure on you.”

There was more to it than that. He could tell from the slight stiffness in her spine, and he remembered the vision of a rooftop kiss that he’d thought was just a fantasy.

Apparently it wasn’t.

But he wasn’t going to put any pressure on her, either. They could talk about it later. “It’s okay, Sara. Gives me something to look forward to.” He gently ran his hand up and down her back as he angled his head to capture her lips once more.

She sighed when they parted. “Len, do you remember what you told me about the things you didn’t do?” Her question was soft.

He gave her a single, slow nod. 

“After the Oculus, they kept me up at night too.”

He cupped her cheek to kiss her again, then said, “I can think of better things to keep us up tonight.”

She nodded and leaned forward for another kiss. He wrapped his arms around her and stood up, lifting her easily, keeping his mouth on hers. She giggled a little against his lips and locked her legs around his waist as he began to walk toward her room.

No more worrying about the things they hadn’t done, or the things that could be. He had _right now_ , and at this moment, with Sara in his arms? Right now was enough.

* * *

 

Gideon had apparently reverted back to being the health police, judging by the baskets of fruit and bran muffins she served up for breakfast the next morning. He and Sara wandered in late, to be greeted with a wink and a nod from Mick, a knowing smile from Stein, and a little uncomfortable fidgeting by Jax. But there were also looks of concern from Rip, and from Ray, who shoved a cup of coffee at Len, saying, “I know you didn’t sleep much last night.”

Silence fell for just a moment, then Ray turned red as Mick let out a bark of laughter. “Well, at least I know I don’t have to pull your head outta your ass, Boss!”

“I do _not_ want to know!” Jax declared as he slid off one of the stools, letting Len take his place. “C’mon, Mick. You were gonna help me with the engines.” 

Mick followed the young mechanic out, still chuckling. Ray stood there, gaping a little, then said, “I just meant that I heard…” 

“Careful, Ray,” Sara warned as she took the seat next to Len and grabbed a muffin. “Your foot’s already in your mouth!”

“I wasn’t talking about _that!”_ Ray huffed out. “Although… I heard...” He looked a little sheepish now. “My room is right next to yours, Sara…”

“Payback for you and Kendra,” Sara countered.

“…and I really need to talk to Gideon about the soundproofing…”

“Raymond.”

Just one icy word from Len stopped the babble, and the sheepish expression was gone. But the look of concern was back. “What I heard sounded like you having a nightmare, Snart,” the scientist finally managed to finish. 

Len grunted and took a sip of the coffee, letting Sara answer. “It was. He saw me dying.” She ran a soothing hand over his shoulder. 

“Just a leftover from the Ridge,” Len said. “I’ll be fine.” He caught Rip eyeing him, and repeated, in an irritated voice, “I’ll be _fine._ I’ve dealt with nightmares all my life.” 

Rip looked ready to debate the matter, but Sara interrupted. “Len wasn’t the only one to have nightmares last night, Rip,” she said. When his gaze shifted to her, she tilted her head a little to one side. “Laurel,” she said simply.

Len reached up to cover Sara’s hand, which had tightened on his shoulder. “We’ll help each other through it,” he said, meeting Rip’s eyes, giving him a look to say _the subject is closed_.

Rip lifted his chin in a clear retort. _For now._

There was silence for a moment. Then Stein cleared his throat, changing the subject.

“Captain Hunter’s told me more about what he saw on the Ridge,” he said. “An actual window on history. Astonishing.”

Len snorted. “If you’re into that sort of thing. I’m not. I just wanted to know about my sister, Mick and Sara. But in some ways…” he squeezed Sara’s hand a little, “I understand why they say to be careful what you wish for.”

Ray glanced at their joined hands and smiled just a little. “Considering the visions on the Ridge drove Time Master Jurgen insane, I guess nightmares are a small price to pay.”

“I have a theory about that,” Rip said. “Mr. Snart and I both refused the larger visions offered by the Ridge. But the accounts of Jurgen’s post-Ridge ravings indicate that he tried to see everything.”

“The big picture, like a typical Time Master,” Sara said.

“Indeed,” Rip agreed. “And it drove him mad. In contrast, Mr. Snart and I focused on the small picture.”

“And so we kept our marbles,” Len said with a nod.

“ ‘There is a time for some things, and a time for all things; a time for great things and a time for small things,’ ” Stein mused. “ _Don Quixote_.”

“Keep your eye on the ball,” Ray offered in return. When Stein looked at him, he shrugged. “You have Cervantes, I have Coach Wilson from Little League.”

“Far be it from me to question the wisdom of a Little League coach,” Stein chuckled, rising from his seat. “I’m going to see if Jefferson and Mr. Rory need any assistance.”

“And I need to suit up to check the outer hull. See what the irresistible force did to our ship,” Raymond said, putting his mug into the kitchen sink. “Later, guys.” He followed Stein out.

Rip finished his tea and put the cup into the sink. “It will take all day for our power to be fully restored. Mr. Snart, try to get some rest today, and let me know if you have any more of those nightmares. We’ll head to 2016 Central City tomorrow. I’m sure you want to see your sister.”

“Yeah,” Len nodded. “Not sure what I’m going to tell her, though.”

“Why, the truth, Mr. Snart. Her big brother is a hero,” Rip said with a smile. “But I think you’ll find she already knew that.”

Rip winked at them and headed out of the galley. Len finished his coffee and looked at the kitchen sink in dismay. “They left us with KP duty!”

Sara chuckled. “Did you forget the rule? Last in for breakfast does the dishes. And technically, you came in behind me.”

“There should be a ‘back from the dead’ exemption,” he complained.

“But you were never really dead, remember?” Sara finished her muffin and slid off her seat. “It’s just coffee cups, Len. I’ll wash, you dry, okay?”

The homey chore would have been quick work, but they kept interrupting each other with kisses and tender touches. It made him think about a day when, perhaps, they might do something like this in a place of their own. Perhaps with two small children beside them.

But… that was still something that could be. For this moment, he would enjoy _right now_ , knowing that every “right now” would eventually lead them to “what the future might hold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue left. Thanks to all for the lovely comments throughout this saga.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve read my other stories, you know I like to reach forward and backward between them. This epilogue is set after the events in “To Be Dad Again,” and I do suggest reading that first.
> 
> This story and “The Waiting Room” series have both been nominated in the CaptainCanary Fan Fiction and Visual Arts Awards 2016. I am so honored by those nominations.

**_Eight Years Later_ **

Rip and the brain trust were still poring over equations when Joy started sucking on her hand, a sure sign she’d need to be fed soon. Len gave Mick a nod on his way off the bridge, humming a soft lullaby as he made his way to the Medbay. When he got there, he fell silent at the sight before him.

Sara was asleep on the large birthing bed that had temporarily replaced the regular Medbay beds. Mickey lay along her right side, his head pillowed on her shoulder. Laurel was on her left, one arm flung across her mother’s body to grasp her brother’s hand.

Len felt a lump rise in his throat. He’d seen this before, back on the Ridge, but at the time he hadn’t really believed it could ever come true.

But here it was, just as he’d been shown all those years ago. The woman he loved. Their children. His _family_.

He closed his eyes and took in a deep, shaky breath. Joy let out a gurgle of complaint.

It was enough to wake Sara, whose assassin’s training hadn’t been dulled by time or motherhood. “Stop that,” she said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Stop what?”

“You know what. The _‘I don’t deserve any of this’_ face,” she answered, holding her arms out for Joy. “You do.”

“So you keep telling me,” he said in a low voice, helping Sara to settle the baby at her breast without disturbing the other children.

“Someday you’ll believe me when I tell you,” she said with a slight smile as he toed off his shoes.

“Someday might be this week,” he replied, leaning in for a kiss before picking Laurel up so he could move into her spot. He stretched out next to Sara while Laurel sprawled over him in her sleep, as if he was the most comfortable pillow in the world.

“Rip said yes?” Sara asked as he slipped his arm around her shoulders, laying his hand on Mickey’s curls.

Len smiled, remembering the stunned look on the former Time Master’s face as the team laid out the plan to rescue his family from 2166. “He argued a bit at first. You know, protect the timeline, the universe would implode, the usual technobabble. But eventually he said yes. I don’t think he’d have ever believed us if Gideon hadn’t chimed in.”

“So, when do we go?”

“They were still working that out when I came down here. Gideon, any update?”

“Our calculations are complete, Mr. Lance,” the AI replied. “The mission must proceed three days from today.”

“Three days? Guess that leaves me out of it,” Sara said with a sigh, chafing as always at the idea of being benched, even if there was a very good reason for it. “I don’t suppose Future Me shows up for the ride?”

Len knew the answer to that after analyzing the vision over and over again, both on his own and through Gideon’s directed dreaming. But he only said, “You know I can’t tell you.”

She snorted. “Listen to you, Mr. Defender of the Timeline. Hard to believe you’re the guy who tried to change his own history just a few days after we boarded the Waverider.”

Len smirked. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t succeed,” he said. “We wouldn’t be here right now if I had.”

Sara wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. “You know, we could have destroyed the timeline so many times. But all the things that happened to us, to _all_ of us… They all led us here.” She paused, then said softly, “It’s almost as if something was guiding us along.”

He considered that for a moment. “Time _wants_ to happen,” he said. “I was pissed over the Time Bastards pulling our strings. But maybe someone was pulling theirs.”

Joy gave a little sigh as she finished nursing and unlatched. Sara yawned widely as she rearranged her gown and resettled the baby.

“You should get some sleep while you can,” he murmured. “She’ll be awake again in an hour.”

“I calculate 90 minutes,” Gideon interjected.

“That’s longer than Mickey and Laurel put together. I guess the third time is the charm,” Sara said with a little smile. “Do you have to go back to the bridge?”

He shook his head. “I could use a nap too. All that walking around the ship was _exhausting_.” She snorted as he gave her a wink. “But Gideon, I want to go through that vision again. Would you…?”

“Direct your dreaming again? Of course, Mr. Lance.”

“That won’t be much of a nap,” Sara observed.

He chuckled. “No rest for the wicked.”

“Formerly wicked,” Sara corrected, tilting her head back for another kiss. “I love you.”

He hummed into the kiss and smiled at her when they parted. “I love you.”

She nestled against him once more and was asleep in a few minutes, postpartum hormones doing their usual work. Len closed his eyes and traced circles on Laurel’s back, thinking about time and visions and… heroes, and still not quite believing he could be counted as one of them.

“May I share something with you, Mr. Lance?” 

He opened his eyes at Gideon’s soft question, to see he wasn’t in the Medbay any longer. Nor was he on that London battlefield as he’d expected before drifting off to sleep.

This was Jurgen’s Ridge. He was sitting on that black rock slope, the multicolored stream of images before him.

But this time, he wasn’t alone. Gideon was sitting with him, not just the disembodied head he knew so well, but a rather solid-looking full-body avatar.

“This is a surprise, Gideon,” he said. As many times as she’d directed his dreaming since the Ridge, she’d never actually appeared in one of those dreams before. Nor had she ever taken him here. “What’s the occasion?”

An AI couldn’t possibly feel embarrassment, but somehow Gideon managed to convey just that impression, drawing her knees up and hugging them to her chest. “I have a confession to make.”

He raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly for her to continue.

“I expressed doubt when Captain Hunter first recruited you and Mr. Rory in 2016.”

He chuckled. “You weren’t the only one.”

An image rose up from the stream before them: His much younger self on a rooftop at night, brushing past Rip with a look of derision. “ _Hero ain’t on my resume.”_

Gideon nodded in acknowledgement as the image faded. “But without you and Mr. Rory, our mission to stop Vandal Savage would never have succeeded.”

She paused, tilting her head. “I owe you an apology.”

“Hmmm.” He thought for a moment, then asked, “Do you know the expression ‘actions speak louder than words,’ Gideon?”

She nodded. “I do, Mr. Lance. Although the expression is not logical. Actions cannot speak.”

He smiled. “Guess the Time Masters didn’t program you for idioms. They’re not supposed to be taken literally. It means what you do can mean much more than anything you say. In this case… you made it possible for the team to get me back from Jurgen’s Ridge. And you helped save my sanity once I was back.

“You don’t owe me anything, Gideon. If anything, I owe you. So if I never said it before, thank you.”

She inclined her head toward him. “You are welcome, Mr. Lance.”

“I’ve gotta ask, though,” he said. “Why _now_ , after all these years?”

“Because of what Mrs. Lance said, that you don’t feel you deserve what you have,” Gideon answered.

“Guys like me don’t get happy endings,” he replied.

Another image rose up before them. _“I’m a criminal. And a liar. And I hurt people. And I rob them.”_ He cringed a little inside at the memory of how he’d betrayed Barry’s trust that night.

“Is that really how you still see yourself?” Gideon asked. When he shrugged in response, she said, “But Mr. Lance… that’s not you anymore.”

Another series of images rose up from the stream.

_“Sara, don’t do it.”_

_“Time to choose a side, I guess…. Chosen.”_

_“You were protecting us. And that doesn’t make you a murderer, that makes you a part of this team.”_

_The sound of breaking ice, followed by a scream of pain._

Gideon asked, “When you sacrificed your hand, were you trying to save Mr. Rory or the team?”

He sighed. “Everyone.”

She nodded, as if she’d expected that answer. “And you did save all their lives. Not just then, but again and again.”

_A single gunshot. “You killed him!”_

_Echoes of gunfire, an order to go. “Not without Jax!”_

_“There are no strings on me.”_

The last of the images sank back into the stream. Gideon shifted to face him. “The old Leonard Snart may not have deserved the life you have now, but you haven’t been that man since you heard Sara Lance talk about changing your own fates.”

He laughed softly, remembering Sara’s smile and shining eyes. “For better or for worse. I think I fell for her right at that moment.”

“Yes. That’s why I chose that moment for the picture in Mrs. Lance’s locket.” Gideon reached out and laid a hand on his arm. It was surprisingly warm. “No matter what Leonard Snart did before the Waverider, Leonard Lance has done… and will do… great things. For now, focus on the small things. I understand they are what make life worth living.”

She raised her hand toward his temple. He caught it and asked, “Thought we were going to go over that vision?”

He had the feeling that if Gideon could smile, she would. “You’ve learnt all you can from it already. It’s time to just let it happen.”

He nodded and released her hand so she could lay it against his temple as he closed his eyes.

Time wants to happen, Rip had told them so many times. And yes, perhaps it wanted to happen in mysterious ways. But despite all the trials, right now he could say that time had been pretty good to him. 

He decided to trust to time as Gideon sent his subconscious into sweet new dreams of what the future might hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this particular story, but not the end of this particular universe. I still have to reunite Len & Lisa, and Rip’s family still needs rescuing!
> 
> Many many many thanks to Jael for all her input throughout this story and the other installments of “The Waiting Room.” And my thanks to all of you who have been kind enough to leave kudos and comments. They truly do mean a lot to me, and some of these stories were directly inspired by those comments. So please, keep them coming!


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